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ADVANCED 


READINGS  AND  RECITATIONS 


BY 


AUSTIN    B.   FLETCHER,  A.M.,LL.B. 

PROFESSOR    OF   ORATORY 
BROWN    UNIVERSITY    AND    BOSTON    UNIVERSITY    SCHOOL   OF    LAW 


BOSTON 

LEE  AND  SHEPARD  PUBLISHERS 

NEW  YORK    CHARLES  T.  DILLINGHAM 


COPYRIGHT, 

1881, 

By  AUSTIN   B.  FLETCHEB, 

All  Rights  Reserved.  ^  \ 


4^ 


y 


PREFACE. 


This  compilation  has  been  made  for  the  purpose  of 
supplying  what  has  long  been  a  great  need,  namely,  a 
Reader  and  Speaker  suited  to  the  requirements  of  ad- 
vanced classes  in  colleges,  post-graduate  schools,  and 
elsewhere. 

Particular  care  has  been  exercised  to  furnish  selections 
which  will  serve  to  develop  the  student's  powers  of  ex- 
pression as  well  as  to  present  pieces  of  intrinsic  literary 
merit.  Nothing  has  been  admitted,  therefore,  because  it 
was  the  work  of  a  great  author,  nor  has  anything  been 
taken  to  increase  the  size  of  the  volume ;  the  difficulty 
has  been  rather  to  know  what  to  exclude  in  order  that 
the  book  might  not  be  too  large  for  convenient  use. 

Every  selection  has  been  fully  tried  in  the  class-room, 
and  is  of  known  value. 

As  many  find  it  difficult  to  express  certain  feelings, 
emotions,  and  passions,  or  to  successfully  present  partic- 
ular lines  of  thought,  especial  attention  has  been  given 
in  making  selections  that  will  be  of  direct  assistance  in 
this  regard.  This,  it  is  believed,  will  be  found  to  be  a  dis- 
tinctive feature  of  this  book,  and  that  it  will  greatly 
assist  the  large  majority  of  readers  out  of  the  dull  mo- 
notony of  common  speech  to  that  which  is  more  expres- 


PREFACE. 

sive  and  refined.  Opportunity  is  also  given  for  the 
exercise  of  the  most  difficult  as  well  as  the  simplest  forms 
of  gesture  and  action. 

The  constant  practice  of  the  examples  given  in  the 
Elocutionary  Introduction  will  be  of  great  value  in  help- 
ing pupils  to  a  mastery  of  the  elements  of  expression 
therein  presented.  The  popular  fallacy  of  ignoring  the 
past  and  attempting  to  supply  the  student  with  the  best 
selections  from  the  literature  of  the  day  merely,  has  been 
carefully  guarded  against.  The  purpose  has  been  rather  to 
draw  from  the  vast  storehouse  of  accumulated  eloquence 
and  wisdom  some  of  the  gems  which  have  so  long  re- 
ceived the  approval  of  the  best  minds  as  to  give  full 
assurance  that  there  is  within  them  that  which  will  con- 
tinue to  delight  and  instruct  readers  of  the  present  and 
the  future. 

The  writer  would  here  acknowledge  his  indebtedness 
to  Messrs.  Houghton,  Mifflin  &  Co.,  and  to  Messrs.  Har- 
per and  Brothers  for  permission  to  make  selections  from 
the  copyright  editions  of  their  publications  ;  also  to  the 
indulgence  of  his  publishers,  Messrs.  Lee  and  Shepard, 
and  particularly  to  the  living  authors  whose  works  are 
herein  represented,  for  their  kind  assistance  and  helpful 

suggestions. 

A.  B.  F. 


CONTENTS. 


i^LOCUTIONARY   INTRODUCTION 

PROSE. 

A  Curtain  Lecture  of  Mrs.  Caudle.  Douglas  Jerrold. 

Against  Whipping  in  the  Navy.       .  Comtnodore  Stockton 

American  Battle-Flags Carl  Schurz.     . 

American  Laborers Nay  lor.     .     .     . 

An  Appeal  to  Arms Patrick  Henry. 

Appeal  for  Starving  Ireland.     .     .  6".  6".  Prentiss. 

A  Tribute  to  our  Honored  Dead.    .  //.  W.  Beecher. 

IJrotiier  Watkins John  B.  Gough. 

Brutus  on  the  Death  of  C.^sar.      .  Shakespeare. 

Burr  and  Blennerhassett.       ...  William  Wirt. 


Charity Bible.  . 

Crime  its  own  Detecter Webster. 


Dedication    of   Gettysburg   Ceme- 
tery.  .     .         . Abraham  Lincobi. 

Destruction  of  the  Carnatic.     .     .     Burke 


ELoquENCE o     .     .     .  Lewis  Cass.        .     . 

Eulogy  on  America Charles  Phillips. 

'•    Lafayette Charles  Sfrague. 

"  "    O'Connell W.  H.  Seward.      . 

Extract  from  Emmets  Speech.    .     .  Robert  Emmet. 


66 

9 

98 

135 
146 

289 

229 
110 
103 

309 
394 


245 
307 

305 
154 
161 
117 
149 


Galileo Edward  Everett.  .     .  386 

Good  Reading  the  greatest  accom- 
plishment   John  S.  Hart.  ...  344 

Hamlet's      Instructions      to      the 

Players Shakespeare.     ...  74 

Handsome  is  that  Handsome  does.  J.  G.   Whittier.     .     .  179 

Invective  against  Mr.  Flood.       .     .  H.  Grattan.      .     .     .170 

Irish  Aliens  and  English  Victories.  R,  L.  ShieL       .     .     .  402 
I                                                                                            I 


CONTENTS. 


Jimmy  Butler  and  the  Owl. 


Labor  and  Genius 

Last  Charge  of  Ney.        .     .     . 

Last  Hours  of  Webster.      .     . 

Laying      the       Corner-Stone 

Bunker  Hill  Monument.    . 

Liberty  and  Union 

Loss  of  tiie  Arctic 


AftojiymoHs    . 

Sydney  Smith, 
y.  T,  Headley. 
Edivard  Everett. 

Webster.  .  . 
Webster.  .  . 
//.  W.  Beecker. 


Napoleon  Bonaparte Charles  Phillies. 

Oration  against  Catiline Cicero.      .     .     . 


Patriotism T.  F.  Meagher. 

Paul  Clifford's  Defence Buhver-Lytton. 

Paul's  Defence  before  Agrippa.      .  Bible.        .     .     . 
Peroration      of      opening      speech 

AGAINST  Warren  Hastings.     .     .  Burke.      .     .     . 


Reply  of  Pitt  to  Walpole. 
Rome  and  Carthage.    .     .     . 


Sam  Weller's  Valentine 

Scene  from  the  Rivals 

South  Carolina  and  Massachu- 
setts  

Spartacus  to  the  Gladiators.     .     . 

Speech  on  the  American  War.      .     . 

Sufferings  and  Destiny  of  the 
Pilgrims 

Supposed  Speech  of  John  Adams.     . 


Lord  Chatham. 
Victor  Hugo.     . 

Dickens.    . 

R.  B.  Sheridan. 


Tact  and  Talent 

The  Battle  of  Waterloo.  .  .  . 
The  Cricket  on  the  Hearth.  .  . 
The  Defeat  of  Waterloo.   .     .     . 

The  Dignity  of  Labor 

The  Irish  Disturbance  Bill.    •     . 

The  March  of  Mind 

The  Minute  Men  of  '76 

The  Trial  of  Warren  Hastings. 
The  True  use  of  Wealth.    .     .     . 
The  Twenty-third  Psalm.    .     .     . 

The  Voyage 

Toussaint  L'Ouverture.       .     .     . 

Tribute  to  Lincoln 

Two  Views  of  Christmas.    .     .     . 


Webster. 
Kellogg    .     .     . 
Lord  Chatham. 

Edward  Everett. 
Webster.    . 

London  Atlas.    . 
Victor  Hugo. 
Dickens.    . 
Victor  Hugo. 
New  ma  71  Hall. 
Daniel  O'  Co?inell. 
yohn  Loffland. 
G.   W.  Curtis.  . 
T.  B.  Macauley. 
John  Rusk  in.     . 

Bible 

Wash  i?igt  071  Irvitig. 
Wendell  Phillips. 
Emilio  Castelar.    . 
Dicke7is 


CONTENTS.  3 

Voices  of  the  Dead Cumming.     ....  63 

Washington's  Genius E.  P.   Whipple.      .     .  317 

Zenobia's  Ambition William  Ware.     .     .  280 


POETRY. 


I. 

^^bou  Ben  Adhem Leigh  Hunt.      ...  44 

IK  Legend  of  Bregenz Adelaide  A.  Proctor.  99 

A  Man's  a  Man  for  a'  that.       .     .     .  Robert  Burns.  ...  68 

A  Mother's  Portrait Cowper S3 

An  Order  for  a  Picture Alice  Cary 92 

Antony's  Address  TO  THE  Roman's.  Shakespeare.     .     .     .  iii 

Apostrophe  to  the  Ocean.       .     .     .     Byron 246 

A  Psalm  of  Life Longfelloiv.       ...  78 

Aux  Italiens Bulwer-Lytton.      .     .  366 


Barbara  Frietchie Whittier.       .     .     . 

Bay  Billy Frank  H.    Gassaway. 

Bingen  on  the  Rhine Mrs.  Norton.     .     . 

Break,  Break,  Break Tennyson.      .     .     . 

Bugle  Song Tennyson.     .     .     . 


Cardinal  Wolsey,  on  being  cut  off 

by  King  Henry  VIII Shakespeare.     .     . 

Catiline's  Defiance George  Croly.  .     . 

Charge  of  the  Light  Brigade.    .     .  Temiyson.      .     .     . 

Charlie  Machree William  J,  Hoppin. 

Darius    Green     and     his     Flying 

Machine J-  T-  Troivbridge. 

Driving  Home  the  Cows Kate  Putnam  Osgood    424 

153 


Each  and  All P.  W.  Emerson. 

Elegy     Written     in     a     Country 

Churchyard.       .' Thomas  Gray. 

Extract  from  Snow-Bound.     .     .     .  Whittier.       .     . 


Flow  Gently,  Sweet  Afton    .     .     .  Robert  Burns.  . 

From  the  Ancient  Mariner.     .     .     .  S.  T.  Coleridge. 

Goody  Blake  and  Harry  Gill.     .     .  Wordsworth.    . 
Griffith's    Description    of   Cardi- 
nal Wolsey Shakespeare.     . 


143 
426 

434 
218 

243 

443 
274 

243 
147 


290 


106 
114 

152 
446 

163 
134 


CONTENTS. 


Hamlet's  SoLiLoquY 

Henry  V.  to  his  Troops.       .     .     . 

Hotspur's  Defence 

How  HE  saved  St.  Michael's.    .     . 

Independence  Bell — JuLy  4,  1776. 

In  School  Days 

Instigation  Scene.    Julius  C^sar. 

John  Anderson,  my  Joe,  John. 
John  Burns  of  Gettysburg.      .     . 


Shakespeare. 

Shakespeare.     .     .     . 

Shakespeare. 

M.  A.  P.  Siansbury. 


Whtttier. 
Shakespeare. 

Robert  Burfis. 
Bret  Harte. 


King  Robert  of  Sicily Longfellow. 

.     .      Ten7iyson. 
.     .     Walter  Scott. 


Lady  Clara  Vere  de  Vere. 
Lochinvar's  Ride.     .     .     . 


Magdalena,  or  the  Spanish  Duel. 

Marmion  and  Douglas 

Marullus  to  the  Roman  Populace. 

Maud  Muller 

Midsummer 

Mont  Blanc  before  Sunrise. 
Mother  and  Poet 


Ode  for  St.  Cecilia's  Day.       .     . 
On  THE  Shores  OF  Tennessee.       .     . 
Opening  Soliloquy  of  Richard  III. 

Othello's  Defence 

Over  the  River 


Parrhasius  and  the  Captive. 
Paul  Rizvere's  Ride.     .     .     . 

POLONIUS'  ADVICE  TO  LaeRTES. 

Portia's  Speech  on  Mercy.  . 
Press  On 


Qijeen  Catherine  to  Henry  VIII. 
Queen  Mab 


Relieving  Guard.     .     . 

Resignation 

Robert  of  Lincoln. 
Rock  me  to  Sleep.    .     . 
Richelieu's  Vindication. 


Scene  from  Hamlet.     .     .     . 
Scene  from  King  Henry  IV. 


y.  F.  Waller.  . 
Walter  Scott.  . 
Shakespeare*  , 
Whittier.  .  . 
J.  T.  Trozvbridgc 
S.  T.  Coleridge. 
Mrs.  Brozvfiuig. 

Dry  den.    .     .     . 
E.  S.  Beers. 
Shakespeare. 
Shakespeare. 
N.  A.   W.  Priest. 

N,  P.   Willis.    . 
Longfelloiv. 
Shakespeare. 
Shakespeare. 
Park  Be?ijajnin. 

Shakespeare.     . 
Shakespeare. 

Bret  Harte. 
Longfelloiv. 
W.  C.  Bryant. 
Elizabeth  Akers  Allen 
Bulwer-Lytton. 

Shakespeare. 
Shakespeare. 


160 

82 

156 


CONTENTS. 


Scenes  from  Macbeth Shakespeare, 

Seven  Ages  of  Man Shakespeare.     . 

Shamus  O'Brien 5^-  "S".  Lefaim. 

Sheridan  s  Ride .  Thomas  B.  Read. 

Shylock's  Soliloquy,  and  his  Ad- 
dress TO  Antonio Shakespeare.     . 

Speech    of    Henry   V.    before   the 

Battle  of  Agincourt Shakespeare.     . 


Tell's  Apostrophe  to  Liberty.    .     . 

Thanatopsis 

The  Arsenal  at  Springfield.       .     . 

The  Ballad  of  Babie  Bell 

The  Battle  of  Ivry 

The  Bells 

The  Bells  of  Shandon 

The  Blue  and  the  Gray 

The   Brides    of    Enderby;    or,    the 

High  Tide 

The  Bridge 

The  Brook 

The  Burial  of  Moses 

The  Charcoal  Man 

The  Closet  Scene  from  Hamlet. 

The  Deserted  Village 

The  Diver 

The  Dream  of  Clarence 

The  Eve  before  Waterloo.  .  .  . 
The  Face  against  the  Pane.  .  .  . 
The  Forging  of  the  Anchor.  .  .  . 
The  Keeping  of  the  Bridge.  .  .  . 
The  Launching  of  the  Ship.    .     .     . 

The  Lost  Chord 

The  New  Church  Organ 

The  Old  Clock  on  the  Stairs.     .     . 

The  Phantom  Ship 

The  Polish  Boy 

The  Raven 

The  Revolutionary  Rising.  .  .  . 
The  Ride  OF  Jennie  M'Neal.      .     .     . 

The  Tear  of  Repentance 

The   Tent   Scene   between  Brutus 

and  Cassius 

The  Vagabonds 


Sheridau  Ktiowles. 
Bryant.     . 
Loiigfellozv. 
T.  B.  Aid  rich.  . 
T.  B.  Macaulay. 
Edgar  A.  Poe. 
Francis  Mahouy. 
F.  M.  Finch.     \ 

Jean  Inge  low.  . 

Longfellow. 

Tennyson. 

C.  F.  Alexander. 

y.  T.  Trotvb ridge. 

Shakespeare. 

Goldsmith.     .     . 

Schiller.   . 

Shakespeare. 

Byron. 

T.  B.  Aldrich. 

Samuel  Ferguson 

T.  B.  Macaulay. 

Longfellow. 

Adelaide  A.  Proctor 

Will  Carle  ton 

Longfellow. 

S.  T.  Coleridge. 

Ann  S.  Stephens. 

Edgar  A.  Poe. 

Thomas  B.  Read. 

Will  Car  let  on. 

Thomas  Moore. 

Shakespeare. 

J.  T.  Trowbridge. 


298 

208 

270 


53 
439 


LIST    OF    AUTHORS. 


The  Village  Preacher Goldsmith.    .     . 

The  Water-Mill D.  C.  McCullum. 

The  Witch's  Daughter J*  G.   Whittier. 

The  Wonderful  "One-Hoss  Shay."  O.   W.  Holmes, 

Those  Evening  Bells Thomas  Moore. 

To  a  Skylark Shelley.     .     .     . 


Union  and  Liberty O.  IV.  Holmes. 

Waiting  by  the  Gate.       .....  W.  C.  Bryant. 

Wax  Work Anonymotis.. 

William   Tell   Among   the    Moun- 
tains   Sherida?i  Ktioivles 

Wolsey  to  Cromwell Shakespeare.     . 


209 
337 
399 
264 

233 

310 

277 

95 
444 


LIST  OF  AUTHORS. 

Aldrich,  T.  B 346,  416 

Alexander,  C.  F 421 

Allen,  Elizabeth  Akers 269 

Anonymous 248,  277 

Atlas,  London 285 

Beecher,  Henry  Ward 218,  289 

Beers,  E.  S.       . 13 

Benjamin,  Park 15 

Bible ^  ....     20,  309,  336 

Browning,  Mrs 191 

Bryant       61,  204,  310 

Bulwer-Lytton 47»  84,  366 

Burke 307,  352 

Burns 68,  152,  181 

Byron 246,  370 

Carleton,  Will 319,  330 

Castelar,  Emilio 430 

Cary,  Alice 92 

Cass,  Lewis 305 

Cicero 272 

Coleridge,  S.  T 188,  446,  447 

Cowper 2>Z 

Croly,  George       274 

CuMMiNG 63 

Curtis,  G.  W 411 


I 


LIST    OF    AUTHORS.  7 

Dickens,  Charles 37?  90,  360 

Dryden 397 

Emerson , 153 

Emmet,  Robert 149 

Everett,  Edward 201,  333,  386 

Ferguson,  Samuel 282 

Finch,  F.  M 316 

Gassaway,  Frank  H 426 

Goldsmith 88,  231 

GouGH,  John  B 229 

Grattan,  H 170 

Gray,  Thomas 106 

Hall,  Newman       57 

Harte,  Bret 22,  75 

Hart,  J.  S 344 

Headley,  J.  T 259 

Henry,  Patrick 135 

Holmes,  O.  W 233,  399 

Hoppin,  William  J 147 

Hugo,  Victor I7)  372,  375 

Hunt,  Leigh 44 

Ingelow,  Jean 259 

Irving,  Washington 265 

Jerrold,  Douglas 383 

Kellogg,  Elijah 436 

Knowles,  Sheridan 95?  96 

Lincoln,  Abraham „     .     345 

Loffland,  John 29 

Longfellow 78,  128,  132,  182,  196,  276,  334,  355 

Lord  Chatham 45,  206 

Lefann,  J.  S.  23 

Macaulay,  T.  B 41,  349,  362 

Mahoney,  Francis 387 

McCuLLUM,  D.  C 209 

Meagher,  T.  F 408 

Moore,  Thomas .      264,  405 

Naylor 98 

Norton,  Mrs 434 

O'Connell,  Daniel 48 

Osgood,  Kate  Putnam 424 


8  LIST    OF    AUTHORS. 

Phillips,  Charles 154,   194 

Phillips,  Wendell 234 

PoE,  Edgar  A 325,  380 

Prentiss,  S.  S 146 

Priest,  N.  A.  W 2^2 

Proctor,  Adelaide  A 99,  130 

Read,  Thomas  Buchanan 270,  2S6 

RUSKIN ^c 

Schiller 3S9 

Schurz,  Carl 9 

Scott 122,  4^19 

Seward,  W.  H 117 

Shakespeare      ....     18,  35,  53,  74,  82,  no,  iii,  131,  134,  13S, 

160,  167,  200,  203,  20S.  212,  236.  251, 
298,  311,  324,  342,  423,  443,  444,  445 

Shelley 33 

Sheridan,  R.  B 50 

Shiel,  R.  L 402 

Smith,  Sydney 413 

Sprague,  Charles 161 

Stansbury,  M.  a.  P 156 

Stephens,  Ann  S 214 

Stockton,  Commodore 66 

Tennyson,  Alfred 59,  120,  21 S,  243 

Trowbridge,  J.  T 290,  358,  409,  439 

Waller,  J.  F 221 

Ware,  William 2S0 

Webster 80,  124,  210,  394,  416 

Whipple,  E.  P 317 

Whittier 114,  143'  172,  i79»  254,  337 

Willis,  N.  P 174 

Wirt,  William 103 

Wordsworth 163 


ELOCUTIONARY    INTRODUCTION. 


ARTICULATION, 

Articulation  is  the  correct  and  distinct  utterance  of  the 
elementary  sounds  in  syllables  and  words. 

A  correct  and  elegant  articulation  is  attained  chiefly 
through  the  free  and  elastic  movement  of  the  jaw,  tongue, 
and  lips. 

If  the  following  exercises  are  practised  slowly,  syllable  by 
syllable,  it  will  be  found  excellent  discipline  both  for  articu- 
1  .tion  and  for  correcting  common  faults  in  pronunciation  • 

The  hours  pass  slowly  by,  —  nine,  ten,  eleven,  —  how 
solemnly  the  last  stroke  of  the  clock  floats  out  upon  the  still 
air.  It  dies  gently  away,  swells  out  again  in  the  distance, 
and  seems  to  be  caught  up  by  spirit-voices  of  departed  years, 
until  the  air  is  filled  with  melancholy  strains.  It  is  the 
requiem  of  the  dying  year.  Brooks. 

Small  service  is  true  service  while  it  lasts ; 

Of  friends,  however  humble,  spurn  not  one  ; 
The  daisy,  by  the  shadow  that  it  casts, 

Protects  the  lingering  dew-drop  from  the  sun. 

Wordsworth. 

Self-denial  and  discipline  are  the  foundation  of  all  good 
character,  the  source  of  all  true  enjoyment,  the  means  of  all 
just  distinction.  This  is  the  invariable  law  of  our  nature. 
Excellence  of  every  sort  is  a  prize,  and  a  reward  for  virtu- 
ous, patient,  and  well-directed  exertion,  and  abstinence  from 
whatever  may  encumber,  enfeeble,  or  delay  us  in  our  courbe. 

1 


il  ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS. 

The  approach  to  its  lofty  abode  is  rightly  represented  as 
steep  and  rugged.  He  who  would  reach  it,  must  task  his 
powers.  But  it  is  a  noble  task,  for,  besides  the  eminence  it 
leads  to,  it  nourishes  a  just  ambition,  subdues  and  casts  off 
vicious  propensities,  and  strengthens  the  powers  employed 
in  its  service,  so  as  to  render  them  continually  capable  of 
higher  and  higher  attainments.  John  Sargeant. 

There  is  a  pleasure  in  the  pathless  woods, 

There  is  a  rapture  on  the  lonely  shore ; 
There  is  society  where  none  intrudes 

By  the  deep  sea  and  music  in  its  roar. 
I  love  not  man  the  less  but  Nature  more, 

From  these  our  interviews,  in  which  I  steal 
From  all  I  may  be,  or  have  been  before, 

To  mingle  with  the  universe,  and  feel 
What  1  can  ne'er  express,  yet  cannot  all  conceal. 

Byron. 

The  high  and  the  low,  the  rich  and  the  poor,  approach, 
in  point  of  real  enjoyment,  much  nearer  to  each  other  than 
is  commonly  imagined.  Providence  never  intended  that  any 
state  here  should  be  either  completely  happy,  or  entirely  mis- 
erable. If  the  feelings  of  pleasure  are  more  numerous  and 
more  lively  in  the  higher  departments  of  life,  such  also  are 
those  of  pain.  If  greatness  flatters  our  vanity,  it  multiplies 
our  dangers.  If  opulence  increases  our  gratifications,  it  in- 
creases, in  the  same  proportion,  our  desires  and  demands. 
If  the  poor  are  confined  to  a  more  narrow  circle,  yet  within 
that  circle  lie  most  of  those  natural  satisfactions,  which,  after 
all  the  refinements  of  art,  are  found  to  be  the  most  genuine 
and  true. 


For  'tis  the  mind  that  makes  the  body  rich  ; 
And  as  the  sun  breaks  through  the  darkest  clouds. 
So  honor  peereth  in  the  meanest  habit. 


ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS.  Ill 

What !  is  the  jay  more  precious  than  the  lark, 
Because  his  feathers  are  more  beautiful? 
Or  is  the  adder  better  than  the  eel, 
Because  his  painted  skin  contents  the  eyes? 
Oh  no,  good  friend  :  neither  art  thou  the  worse 
For  this  poor  furniture  and  mean  array. 

Shakespeare. 

He  who  ascends  to  monntain-tops  shall  find 
The  loftiest  peaks  most  wrapt  in  clouds  and  snow ;  — 
He  who  surpasses  or  subdues  mankind 
Must  look  down  on  the  hate  of  those  below. 
Though  high  above  the  sun  of  glory  glow, 
And  far  beneath  the  earth  and  ocean  spread, 
Round  him  are  icy  rocks,  and  loudly  blow 
Contending  tempests  on  his  naked  head  ; 
And  thus  reward  the  toils  which  to  those  summits  led. 

Byron. 

Let  the  young  remember  there  is  nothing  derogatory  in 
any  employment  which  ministers  to  the  well-being  of  the 
race.  It  is  the  spirit  that  is  carried  into  an  employment  that 
elevates  or  degrades  it.  The  ploughman  that  turns  the  clod 
maybe  a  Cincinnatus  or  a  Washington,  or  he  may  be  brother 
to  the  clod  he  turns. 

No  matter  what  may  be  the  fortunes  or  the  expectations 
of  a  young  man,  he  has  no  right  to  live  a  life  of  idleness.  In 
a  world  so  full  as  this  of  incitements  to  exertion,  and  of  re- 
wards for  achievement,  idleness  is  the  most  absurd  of  absur- 
dities, and  the  most  shameful  of  shames.  In  such  a  world 
as  ours,  the  idle  man  is  not  so  much  a  biped  as  a  bivalve ; 
and  the  wealth  which  breeds  idleness  —  of  which  the  Eng- 
lish peerage  is  an  example,  and  of  which  we  are  beginning 
to  abound  in  specimens  in  this  country  —  is  only  a  sort  of 
human  oyster-bed,  where  heirs  and  heiresses  are  planted,  to 
spend  a  contemptible  life  of  slothfulness  in  growing  plump 
and  succulent  for  the  grave-worm's  banquet. 

Horace  Mann. 


IV  ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS. 


QUALITY, 

Quality,  or  Timbre,  of  the  voice  is  that  peculiar  propert}? 
by  which  we  distinguish  the  speech  of  one  person  from  that 
of  another,  or  by  which  the  same  person  expresses  different 
emotions. 

Pure  tone  is  that  quaHty  which  should  be  used  in  common 
conversation,  and  in  the  expression  of  pleasing  emotions. 

Whispering  expresses  secrecy,  awe,  excessive  fear,  and 
suppressed  anger,  or  restrained  emotion.  The  practice  of 
whispering  should  not  be  continued  long  at  a  time,  but  it 
v/ill  be  found  an  excellent  exercise  for  improving  both  the 
articulation  and  respiration. 

The  Half'  Whisper^  or  Aspirated  Tone^  is  used  in  the  ex- 
pression of  the  same  emotions  as  the  whisper,  but  when 
they  are  less  intense. 

The  Orotund  is  an  enlarged,  pure  tone,  and  is  used  in  the 
expression  of  feelings  of  reverence,  grandeur,  or  sublimity. 

The  Aspirated  Orotund  is  used  to  express  mixed  feelings 
of  fear  and  grandeur,  awe  and  sublimity. 


Whispering. 

Soldiers !  You  are  now  within  a  few  steps  of  the  ene- 
my's outpost.  Our  scouts  report  them  as  slumbering  in 
parties  around  their  watch-fires,  and  utterly  unprepared  foi 
our  approach.  A  swift  and  noiseless  advance  around  that 
projecting  rock,  and  we  are  upon  them, —  we  capture  them 
without  the  possibility  of  resistance.  One  disorderly  noise 
or  motion  may  leave  us  at  the  mercy  of  their  advanced 
guard.  Let  every  man  keep  the  strictest  silence,  under  pain 
of  instant  death  ! 

Pray  you  tread  softly,  —  that  the  blind  mole  may  not 
Hear  a  footfall ;   we  are  now  near  his  cell. 


ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS.  Y 

Speak  softly. 
All's  hushed  as  midnight  yet. 

See'st  thou  here  ? 
This  is  the  mouth  o'  the  cell !  no  noise  !  and  enter  ! 

Shakespeare. 

Hark !  I  hear  the  bugles  of  the  enemy !  They  are  on 
i:heir  march  along  the  bank  of  the  river.  We  must  retreat 
instantly,  or  be  cut  off  from  our  boats.  I  sec  the  head  of 
their  column  already  rising  over  the  height.  Our  only  safety 
is  in  the  screen  of  this  hedge.  Keep  close  to  it ;  be  silent ; 
and  stoop  as  you  run.     For  the  boats  !     Forward  ! 

Ha  !  w^ho  comes  here  ? 
I  think  it  is  the  vs^eakness  of  mine  eyes 
That  shapes  this  monstrous  apparition. 
It  comes  upon  me.     Art  thou  anything? 
Art  thou  some  god,  some  angel,  or  some  devil, 
That  makes  my  blood  cold,  and  my  hair  to  stare? 
Speak  to  me  what  thou  art."  Shakespeare. 


Hai.f-whisper  —  Aspiration. 

Now  o'er  the  one  half  world 
Nature  seems  dead  ;  and  wicked  dreams  abuse 
The  curtained  sleep  ;  now  witchcraft  celebrates 
Pale  Hecate's  offerings;  and  withered  murder 
Alarumed  by  his  sentinel,  the  wolf, 
Whose  howl's  his  watch,  thus  with  his  stealthy  pace, 
Towards  his  design 

Moves  like  a  ghost.  —  Thou  sure  and  firm-set  earth. 
Hear  not  my  steps,  which  way  they  walk  ;  for  fear 
The  very  stones  prate  of  my  whereabout, 
And  take  the  present  horror  from  the  time, 
Which  now  suits  with  it.  Shakespeare. 


Vi  ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS. 

Oh,  I  have  passed  a  miserable  night, 

So  full  of  ugly  sights,  of  ghastly  dreams 

That,  as  I  am  a  Christian  faithful  man, 

I  would  not  spend  another  such  a  night. 

Though  fwere  to  buy  a  world  of  happy  days. 

So  full  of  dismal  terror  was  the  time. 

Shakespeare. 
And  once  behind  a  rick  of  barley 

Thus  looking  out,  did  Harry  stand, 
The  moon  was  full,  and  shining  clearly 

And  crisp  with  frost  the  stubble  land. 
He  hears  a  noise  —  he*s  all  awake  — 

Again  !     On  tip-toe  down  the  hill 
He  softly  creeps.     'Tis  Goody  Blake, 

She's  at  the  hedge  of  Harry  Gill. 

Wordsworth. 


Once  upon  a  midnight  dreary,  while  I  pondered  weak  and 

weary, 
Over  many  a  quaint  and  curious  .    .  .  volume  of  forgotten 

lore. 
While  I  nodded,  nearly   napping,  suddenly   there    came    a 

tapping. 
As  of   some  one  gently  rapping,  rapping  at  my  chamber 

door ; 
"  'Tis  some  visitor,"  I  muttered,  "  tapping  at  my  chamber 

door; 

Only  this  and  nothing  more." 

Ah  !  distinctly  I  remember,  it  was  in  the  bleak  December, 
And  each  separate  dying  ember  wrought  its  ghost  upon  the 

floor  ; 
Eagerly  I  wished  the  morrow :  vainly  I  had  tried  to  borrow, 
From   my  books,  surcease  of   sorrow,  sorrow  for  the  lost 

Lenore, 
For  the  rare  and  radiant  maiden  whom  the  angels  named 

Lenore, 

Nameless  here  for  evermore.  Poe. 


i 


ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS.  Vll 


Pure    Tone. 

TO  A   SKYLARK. 

Hail  to  thee,  blithe  spirit, — 

Bird  thou  never  wert,  — 
That  from  heaven,  or  near  it, 

Pourest  thy  full  heart 
In  profuse  strains  of  unpremeditated  art. 

Higher  still  and  higher 

From  the  earth  thou  springest; 
Like  a  cloud  of  fire, 

The  blue  deep  thou  wingest, 
And  singing  still  dost  soar,  and  soaring  ever  singest. 

Shelley. 

And  what  is  so  rare  as  a  day  in  June  ? 

Then,  if  ever,  come  perfect  da3^s  ; 
Then  Heaven  tries  the  earth  if  it  be  in  tune, 

And  over  it  softly  her  w^arm  ear  lays : 
Whether  w^e  look,  or  whether  we  listen, 
We  hear  life  murmur,  or  see  it  gHsten, 
Every  clod  feels  a  stir  of  might. 

An  instinct  within  it  that  reaches  and  towers. 
And,  groping  blindly  above  it  for  light, 

Climbs  to  a  soul  in  grass  and  flowers ; 
The  little  bird  sits  at  his  door  in  the  sun, 

Atilt  like  a  blossom  among  the  leaves. 
And  lets  his  iUu mined  being  o'errun 

With  the  dekige  of  summer  it  receives. 

Lowell. 

The  splendor  falls  on  castle  walls, 

And  snowy  summits  old  in  story ; 
The  long  light  shakes  acro'ss  the  lakes, 
And  the  wild  cataract  leaps  in  glory. 
Blow,  bugle,  blow  !  set  the  wild  echoes  flying ; 
Blow,  bugle  ;  answer  echoes,  —  dying,  dying,  dying  ! 


Vlll  ADVANCED    READINGS   AND    RECITATIONS. 

O  hark  !   O  hear  !   how  thin  and  clear, 
And  thinner,  clearer,  farther  going ! 
O  sweet  and  far  from  cliti'and  scar, 
The  horns  of  Elfland  faintly  blowing! 
Blow  !  let  us  hear  the  purple  glens  replying  : 
Blow,  bugle  ;  answer  echoes —  dying,  dying,  dying ! 

Tennyson. 


If  we  look  to  what  the  waters  produce,  shoals  of  the  fry  of 
fish  frequent  the  margins  of  rivers,  of  lakes,  and  of  the  sea 
itself.  These  are  so  happy,  that  they  know  not  what  to  do 
with  themselves.  Their  attitudes,  their  vivacity,  their  leaps 
out  of  the  water,  their  frolics  in  it,  all  conduce  to  show  their 
excess  of  spirits,  and  are  simply  the  effects  of  that  excess. 

Paley 

Have  you  not  heard  the  poets  tell 
How  came  the  dainty  Babie  Bell 
Into  this  world  of  ours.^* 

The  gates  of  heaven  were  left  ajar : 
With  folded  hands  and  dreamy  eyes, 
Wandering  out  of  Paradise, 

She  saw  this  planet,  like  a  star, 

Hung  in  the  glittering  depths  of  even. 
Its  bridges  running  to  and  fro. 
O'er  which  the  white-winged  angels  go, 

Bearing  the  holy  dead  to  heaven. 

She  touched  a  bridge  of  flowers,  those  feet, 
So  light  they  did  not  bend  the  bells 
Of  the  celestial  asphodels! 

They  fell  like  dew  upon  the  flowers. 

Then  all  the  air  grew  strangely  sweet ; 

And  thus  came  dainty  Babie  Bell 

Into  this  world  of  ours.  T.  B.  Alprich. 


ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS.  IX 

Orotund. 

The  stars  shall  fade  away,  the  sun  himself 
Grow  dim  with  age,  and  Nature  sink  in  years; 
But  thou  shalt  flourish  in  immortal  youth, 
Unhurt  amidst  the  war  of  elements, 
The  wreck  of  matter,  and  the  crush  of  worlds. 

Addison. 

The  eulogium  pronounced  by  the  honorable  gentleman  on 
the  character  of  the  State  of  South  Carolina,  for  her  Revo- 
lutionary and  other  merits,  meets  my  hearty  concurrence.  I 
shall  not  acknowledge  that  the  honorable  member  goes  be- 
fore  me  in  regard  for  whatever  of  distinguished  talent,  or 
distinguished  character  South  Carolina  has  produced.  I 
claim  part  of  the  honor,  I  partake  in  the  pride,  of  her  great 
names.  I  claim  them  for  countrymen,  one  and  all,  —  the 
Laurenses,  the  Rutledges,  the  Pinckneys,  the  Sumters,  the 
Marions,  —  Americans  all,  whose  fame  is  no  more  to  be 
hemmed  in  by  State  lines,  than  their  talents  and  patriotism 
were  capable  of  being  circumscribed  within  the  same  nar- 
row limits.  Webster. 

Hast  thou  a  charm  to  stay  the  morning  star 

In  his  steep  course?     So  long  he  seems  to  pause 

On  thy  bald  awful  head,  O  sovereign  Blanc  1 

The  Arve  and  Arveiron  at  thy  base 

Rave  ceaselessly  ;  but  thou,  most  awful  form, 

Risest  from  forth  thy  silent  sea  of  pines. 

How  silently ! 

Around  thee,  and  above, 
Deep  is  the  air  and  dark,  substantial,  black, 
An  ebon  mass  ;   methinks  thou  piercest  it 
As  with  a  wedge.     But  when  I  look  again 
It  is  thine  own  calm  home,  thy  crystal  shrine. 
Thy  habitation  from  eternity.  Coleridge. 


i 


;X  ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS. 

I  have  read  that  in  some  hard  battle,  when  the  tide  was 
running  against  hiin,  and  his  ranks  were  breaking,  some 
one  in  the  agony  of  a  need  of  generalship  exclaimed,  '-  Oh 
for  an  hour  of  Dundee  !  '  So  say  I,  '  Oh  for  an  hour  of 
Webster  now!  Oh  for  one  more  roll  of  that  thunder  inimi- 
table !  One  more  peal  of  that  clarion  !  One  more  grave  and 
bold  counsel  for  moderation  !  One  more  throb  of  American 
feeling!  One  more  Farewell  Address!  And  then  might 
he  ascend  unhindered  to  the  bosom  of  his  Father  and  his 
God.  Choate. 

The  great  flood  of  time  will  roll  on  until  the  Aborigines 
are  swept  from  the  face  of  the  earth  forever.  Ere  long,  not 
one  lone  trace  of  them  will  remain,  save  the  mausoleum  of 
the  warrior,  and  the  page  on  which  his  exploits  are  recorded. 
The  last  child  of  the  forest  will  soon  climb  his  native  moun- 
tain to  view  the  setting  sun  of  Indian  glory.  And  there 
shall  he  bow  his  knee,  the  last  time,  to  the  sun  as  he  sinks 
behind  his  lonely  cottage,  and  worship  the  Great  Spirit  of 
the  waters,  and  the  genius  of  storm  and  darkness. 

John  Loffland. 


Aspirated  Orotund. 

Ghost.     I  am  thy  father's  spirit, 
Doomed  for  a  certain  term  to  walk  the  night, 
And  for  the  day  confined  to  fast  in  fires. 
Till  the  foul  crimes  done  in  my  days  of  nature 
Are  burnt  and  purg'd  away. 

But  that  I  am  forbid 
To  tell  the  secrets  of  my  prison-house, 
I  could  a  tale  unfold  whose  lightest  word 
Would  harrow  up  thy  soul,  freeze  thy  young  bkx)d. 
Make  thy  two  eyes,  like  stars,  start  from  their  spheres, 
Thy  knotted  and  combined  locks  to  part, 
And  each  particular  hair  to  stand  on  end. 
Like  quills  upon  the  fretful  porpentine  ; 


ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS.  : 

But  this  eternal  blazon  must  not  be 
To  ears  of  flesh  and  blood.     List,  list,  O,  list ! 
If  thou  didst  ever  thy  dear  father  love  — 
Revenge  his  foul  and  most  unnatural  murder. 

Shakespeare. 

'Tis  now  the  very  witching  time  of  night. 

When  church-yards  yawn,  and  hell  itself  breathes  out 

Contagion  to  this  world  ;  now  could  I  drink  hot  blood, 

And  do  such  bitter  business  as  the  day 

Would  quake  to  look  on.  Shakespeare. 


INFLECTION, 


Inflection  is  the  bending  of  the  voice  or  changing  of 
the  pitch  upon  a  sound  or  word. 

Inflection  is  divided  into  two  classes.  Major,  used  in  com- 
mon discourse  in  expressions  of  pleasure,  strength,  and 
angei.  Minor,  used  in  expressions  of  horror,  pity,  pathos, 
and  weakness. 

There  are  two  simple  inflections,  the  falling  and  rising, 
and  when  these  are  united,  they  give  the  circumflex,  which 
takes  its  name  from  its  ending. 

The  falling  (^)  is  used  to  express  the  will  or  knowledge 
of  the  speaker,  and  denotes  decision,  positiveness,  or  com- 
pleteness. 

The  rising  (/)  expresses  the  will  or  knowledge  of  the 
hearer,  and  asks  for  information,  denotes  incompleteness, 
indecision,  doubt,  or  timidity. 

The  circumflex  (y  A)  is  used  to  express  mixed  feeling, 
irony,  sarcasm,  or  raillery. 

The  monotone  ( — )  is  used  in  expressing  feelings  of  gran- 
deur, vastness,  or  power.  The  monotone  may  be  of  any 
pitch,  but  should  vary  its  slide  as  little  as  possible. 


i. 


Xll  ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS. 


Falling. 

Let  your  companions  be  select ;  let  them  be  such  as  you 
can  love  for  their  good  qualities,  and  whose  virtues  you  are 
desirous  to  emulate. 

Cas.     I  denied  you  not. 
Bru,     You  did. 

Cas.     I  did  not ;  he  was  but  a  fool 
That  brought  my  answer  back. 

Shakespeare. 

Stand  up  erect !     Thou  hast  the  form 
And  likeness  of  thy  God  !   who  more.'* 
A  soul  as  dauntless  mid  the  storm 
Of  daily  life,  a  heart  as  warm 
And  pure,  as  breast  e'er  wore. 


Hence  !  home,  you  idle  creatures,  get  you  home. 

You  blocks,  you  stones,  you  worse  than  senseless  things! 

Be  gone  ! 

Run  to  your  houses,  fall  upon  your  knees. 

Pray  to  the  gods  to  intermit  the  plague 

That  needs  must  light  on  this  ingratitude. 

Shakespeare. 

Who  touches  a  hair  of  yon  gray  head 
Dies  like  a  dog  !     March  on  !   he  said. 

Under  his  slouched  hat  left  and  right 

He  glanced  ;  the  old  flag  met  his  sight. 

"  Halt !  "  —  the  dust-brown  ranks  stood  fast. 

"  Fire  !  "  out  blazed  the  rifle-blast ; 

It  shivered  the  whidow,  pane  and  sash  ; 

It  rent  the  banner  with  seam  and  gash. 

Whittier. 


J 


ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS.  Xlll 

Fight,  gentlemen  of  England  !  fight,  bold  yeomen  ! 
Draw,  archers,  draw  your  arrows  to  the  head : 
Spur  your  proud  horses  hard,  and  ride  in  blood  ; 
Amaze  the  welkin  with  your  broken  staves. — 
A  thousand  hearts  are  great  within  my  bosom  : 
Advance  our  standards,  set  upon  our  foes  I 
Our  ancient  word  of  courage,  fair  Saint  George, 
Inspire  us  with  the  spleen  of  fiery  dragons ! 
Upon  them  !     Victory  sits  on  our  helms. 

Shakespeare. 


Rising. 


Must  I  give  way  and  room  to  your  rash  choler? 
Shall  I  be  frighted  when  a  mad  man  stares? 

Shakespeare. 

And  do  you  now  put  on  your  best  attire  ? 
And  do  you  now  cull  out  a  holiday? 
And  do  you  now  strew  flowers  in  his  way, 
That  comes  in  triumph  over  Pompey's  blood? 

Shakespeare. 

Hast  thou  not  known,  hast  thou  not  heard,  that  the  ever- 
lasting God,  the  Lord,  the  Creator  of  the  ends  of  the  earth, 
fainteth  not,  neither  is  weary  ? 

But  why  pause  here?  Is  so  much  ambition  praiseworthy 
and  more  criminal?  Is  it  fixed  in  nature  that  the  limits  of 
this  empire  should  be  £gypt  on  the  one  hand,  the  Hellespont 
and  Eiixine  on  the  other?  Were  not  Suez  and  Armenia 
more  natural  limits?  Or  hath  empire  no  natural  limit,  but 
is  broad  as  the  genius  that  can  devise,  and  the  power  that 
can  win?  William  Ware. 

Hath  not  a  Jew  eyes?  hath  not  a  Jew  hands,  organs,  di- 
mensions,  senses,    affections,  passions?    fed   with   the   same 


XIV  ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS. 

food,  hurt  with  the  same  weapons,  subject  to  the  same  dis- 
eases, healed  by  the  same  means,  warmed  and  cooled  by  the 
same  winter  and  summer,  as  a  Christian  is?  If  you  prick  us, 
do  we  not  bleed?  if  you  tickle  us,  do  we  not  laugh?  if  you 
poison  us,  do  we  not  die?  and,  if  you  wrong  us,  shall  we 
not  revenge  ?  Shakespeare. 


Rising  and  Falling. 

Cas.     When  Caesar  lived,  he  durst  not  thus  have  moved 

me. 

Bru,     Peace,  peace  !  you  durst  not  so  have  tempted  him. 

Cas.     I  durst  not ! 

Bru,     No. 

Cas,     What !     Durst  not  tempt  him  ? 

Bru,     For  your  life  you  durst  not. 

Shakespeare. 

Richelieu,    Young  man,  be  blithe  —  for  —  note  me  —  from 
the  hour 

I  grasp  that  packet  —  think  your  guiding  star 

Rains  fortune  on  you. 

Francois,  If  I  fail  — 

Rich.  Fail  — fail? 

In  the  lexicon  of  youth,  which  Fate  reserves 

For  a  bright  manhood,  there  is  no  such  word 

As  —  fail !  BuLWER. 

Good  name  in  man  and  woman,  dear  my  lord. 

Is  the  immediate  jewel  of  their  souls  ; 

Who  steals  my  piirse  steals  trash  ;  'tis  something,  nothing ; 

'Twas  mine,  'tis  his,  and  has  been  slave  to  thousands ; 

But  he  that  filches  from  me  my  good  name, 

Robs  me  of  that  which  not  enriches  him. 

And  makes  me  poor  indeed. 

Shakespeare. 


ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS.  XV 

Hamlet.     Hold  you  the  watch  to-night? 

Mar,  and  Ber.  We  do,  my  lord. 

Ham,     Arm'd,  say  you  ? 

Mar,  and  Ber,  Arm'd,  my  lord. 

Ham,  From  top  to  toe? 

Mar,  and  Ber,     My  lord,  from  head  to  foot. 

Ham,     Then  saw  you  not  his  lace? 

Hor,     Oh,  yes,  my  lord  ;   he  wore  his  beaver  up. 

Ham,     What,  looked  he  frowningly? 

Hor,     A  countenance  more  in  sorrow  than  in  anger. 

Ham.     Pale  or  red  ? 

Hor,     Nay,  very  pale. 

Ham,     And  fixed  his  eyes  upon  you  ? 

Hor,     Most  constantly. 

Ham,     I  would  I  had  been  there. 

Hor,     It  would  have  much  amazed  you. 

Ha7n,     Very  like,  very  like.     Stay'd  it  long? 

Hor,     While  one  with  moderate  haste  might  tell  a  htin« 
dred. 

Mar,  and  Ber,     Longer,  longer. 

Ham,     His  head  was  grizzl'd?  —  No? 

Hor,     It  was  as  I  have  seen  it  in  his  life, 
A  sable  silver'd. 

Ham,     I'll  watch  to-night ; 
Perchance  'twill  walk  again. 

Hor.     I  warrant  it  will. 

Ham,     If  it  assume  my  noble  father's  person, 

I'll  speak  to  it,  though  hell  itself  should  gape 

And  bid  me  hold  my  peace. 

Shakespeare. 


I 


Minor  Rising. 

Oh,  my  lord, 
Must  I  then  leave  you  ?  must  I  needs  forego 
So  good,  so  noble,  and  so  triie  a  master? 

Shakespeare. 


XVI  ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS. 

Could  you  come  back  to  ine,  Douglas,  Douglas, 

In  the  old  likeness  that  I  knew, 
I  would  be  so  faithful,  so  loving,  Douglas, 

Douglas,  Doiigbis,  tender  and  true. 
Stretch  out  3'our  hand  to  me,  Douglas,  Douglas, 

Drop  forgiveness  from  heaven  like  dew  ; 
As  I  lay  my  hand  on  your  dead  heart,  Douglas, 

Douglas,  Douglas,  tender  and  true. 

Miss  MULOCK. 

Alas,  sir, 

In  what  have  I  offended  you  ?  what  cause 

Hath  my  behavior  given  to  your  displeasure. 

That  thus  you  should  proceed  to  put  me  off, 

And  take  your  good  grace  from  me? 

When  was  the  hour 

I  ever  contradicted  your  desire. 

Or  made  it  not  nn'ne  too?     Or  which  of  your  friends 

Have  I  not  strove  to  love,  although  I  knew 

He  were  mine  enemy?  what  friend  of  mine 

That  had  to  him  deriv'd  your  auger,  did  I 

Continue  in  my  liking? 

Shakespeare. 


Minor  Falling. 

"  O  my  son  Absalom  !  my  son,  my  son  Absalom  ! 
Would  God  I  had  died  for  thee,  O  Absalom,  my  son,  my 
son !  " 

Who  can  look  down  upon  the  grave,  even  of  an  enemy, 
and  not  feel  a  compunctious  llirob  that  he  should  ever  have 
warred  with  the  poor  handful  of  earth  that  lies  mouldering 
before  him?  Addison. 


ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS.  XVll 

This  was  the  most  unkindest  ctit  of  all ! 

For  when  the  noble  Caesar  saw  him  stab, 

Ingratitude  more  strong  than  traitors'  arms, 

Qiiite  vanquished  him  !     Then  burst  his  mighty  heart; 

And,  in  his  mantle  muffling  up  his  face, 

Even  at  the  base  of  Pompey's  statue. 

Which  all  the  while  ran  blood,  great  Caesar  fell. 

Shakespeare. 

Oh,  I  have  suffered 

With  those  that  I  saw  stifter  !  a  brave  vessel 

Who  had,  no  doubt,  some  noble  creatures  in  her, 

Dashed  all  to  pieces.     Oh,  the  cry  did  knock 

Against  my  very  heart !     Poor  sotils  !  they  perished. 

Had  I  been  any  god  of  power,  I  would 

Have  sunk  the  sea  within  the  earth,  or  ere 

It  should  the  good  ship  so  have  swallowed,  and 

The  frighting  souls  within  her. 

Shakespeare. 


Circumflex. 

What  should  I  say  to  you  ?     Should  I  not  say, 
Hath  a  dog  money  ?     Is  it  possible, 
A  cur  can  lend  three  thousand  ducats? 

Shakespeare. 

Let  any  man  resolve  to  do  right  now,  leaving  then  to  do 
as  it  can  :  and  if  he  were  to  live  to  the  age  of  Methuselah, 
he  would  never  do  wrong.  —  But  the  common  error  is  to 
resolve  to  act  right  ^fter  breakfast,  or  Mfter  dinner,  or  to- 
morrow morning,  or  n^xt  time.     But  now,  just,  now,  this 

once,  we  must  go  on  the  same  as  ever. 

Jane  Taylor. 

None  dared  withstand  him  to  his  face. 
But  one  sly  maiden  spake  aside : 
'*  The  little  witch  is  evil-eyed  ! 


XVlll         ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS. 

Her  mother  only  killed  a  cow, 

Or  witched  a  churn  or  dair3'-pan  ; 

But  she,  forsooth,  must  charm  a  man  !  " 

Whittier. 

If  to  do  were  as  easy  as  to  know  what  were  good  to  do, 
chapels  had  been  churches,  and  poor  men's  cottages  princes' 
palaces.  It  is  a  good  divine  that  follows  his  own  instruc- 
tions. I  can  easier  teach  twenty  what  were  good  to  be  done, 
than  to  be  one  of  the  twenty  to  follow  mine  own  teaching. 
The  brain  may  devTse  laws  for  the  blood  ;  but  a  hot  temper 
leaps  over  a  cold  decree.  Shakespeare. 


Marullus,     You,  sir;  what  trade  are  you? 

2d  Citizen,  Truly,  sir,  in  respect  of  a  fine  workman,  I 
am  but,  as  you  would  say,  a  cobbler. 

Mar,     But  what  trade  art  thou?     Answer  me  directly. 

2d  Cit.  A  trade,  sir,  that,  I  hope,  I  may  use  with  a  safe 
conscience  ;  which  is,  indeed,  sir,  a  mender  of  bad  soles. 

Mar,  What  trade,  thou  knave?  thou  naughty  knave,  what 
trade? 

2d  Cit,  Nay,  I  beseech  you,  sir,  be  not  out  with  me  :  yet, 
if  you  hh  out,  sir,  I  can  mend  you. 

Mar,  What  mean'st  thou  by  that?  Mend  me,  thou  saucy 
fellow  ? 

2d  Cit.     Why,  sir,  cobble  you. 

Plavius.     Thou  art  a  cobbler,  art  thou  ? 

2d  Cit,     Truly,  sir,  all  that  I  live  by  is  with  the  awl. 

Flav,  But  wherefore  art  not  in  thy  shop  to-day  ?  Why 
dost  thou  lead  these  men  about  the  streets? 

2d  Cit.  Truly,  sir,  to  wear  6ut  their  shoes,  to  get  myself 
into  more  work.  But,  indeed,  sir,  we  make  holiday,  to  see 
Cae^sar,  and  to  rejoice  in  his  triumph.  Shakespeare. 


ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS.  XIX 

Monotone. 

The  cloud-capped  towers,  the  gorgeous  palaces, 

The  solemn  temples,  the  great  globe  itself, 

Yea,  all  which  it  inherit  shall  dissolve. 

And,  like  this  unsubstantial  pageant  faded, 

Leave  not  a  rack  behind.  Shakespeare. 

Father  of  earth  and  heaven,  I  call  thy  name  ! 

Round  me  the  smoke  and  shout  of  battle  roll ; 
My  eyes  are  dazzled  with  the  rustling  flame  ; 

Father  sustain  an  untried  soldier's  soul. 
Or  life  or  death,  whatever  be  the  goal, 

That  crowns  or  closes  round  this  struggling  hour; 
Thou  know'st,  if  ever  from  my  spirit  stole 

One  deeper  prayer,  'twas  that  no  cloud  might  lower 

On  my  young  fame,  oh  hear,  God  of  eternal  power. 

KORNER. 

Roll  on,  thou  deep  and  dark  blue  ocean  —  roll ! 

Ten  thousand  fleets  sweep  over  thee  in  vain  ; 
Man  marks  the  earth  with  ruin  —  his  control 

Stops  with  the  shore  ;  —  upon  the  watery  plain 
The  wrecks  are  all  thy  deed,  nor  doth  remain 

A  shadow  of  man's  ravage  save  his  own. 
When  for  a  moment,  like  a  drop  of  rain. 

He  sinks  into  thy  depths  with  bubbling  groan. 

Without  a  grave,  unknelled,  uncoflined,  and  unknown. 

Byron. 

MOVEMENT. 

The  rate  of  utterance  is  an  outward  indication  of  the  state 
of  the  speakers  feelings. 

Rapid  movement  is  used  to  express  joy,  animation,  excite- 
ment. 

Moderate  7nove7nent  is  used  in  unimpassioned  discourse. 

Slow  7novement  is  used  to  express  grief,  power,  vastness, 


XX  ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS. 

solemnity,  and  in  great  exhaustion,  or  in  giving  explicit  di- 
rections. 

Very  slow  movement  is  used  in  the  expression  of  profound 
reverence,  adoration,  deep  contemplation. 


Rapid  Movement. 

And  lo!  as  he  looks,  on  the  belfry's  height. 

A  glimmer,  and  then  a  gleam  of  light! 

He  springs  to  the  saddle,  the  bridle  he  turns, 

But  lingers  and  gazes,  till  full  on  his  sight 

A  second  lamp  in  the  belfry  burns! 

A  hurry  of  hoofs  in  a  village  street, 

A  shape  in  the  moonlight,  a  bulk  in  the  dark, 

And  beneath,  from  the  pebbles,  in  passing,  a  spark 

Struck  out  by  a  steed  flying  fearless  and  fleet. 

Longfellow. 

Hurrah!  the  foes  are  moving!     Hark  to  the  mingled  din 
Of   fife,   and    steed,   and   trump,    and    drum,   and    roaring 

culver  in ! 
The  fiery  Duke  is  pricking  fast  across  Saint  Andre's  plain. 
With  all  the  hireling  chivalry  of  Guelders  and  Almayne. 
Now,  by  the  lips  of  those  ye  love,  fair  gentlemen  of  France, 
Charge  for  the  golden  lilies   now,  —  upon   them  with   the 

lance! 
A  thousand  spurs  are  striking  deep,  a  thousand  spears  in  rest, 
A   thousand  knights   are  pressing  close  behind   the   snow- 
white  crest. 
And  in  they  burst,  and  on  they  rushed,  while,  like  a  guiding 

star, 
Amidst  the  thickest  carnage  blazed  the  helmet  of  Navarre. 

Macaulay. 

So  farre,  so  fast  the  eygre  drave. 
The  heart  had  hardly  time  to  beat. 

Before  a  shallow,  seething  wave 
Sobbed  in  the  grasses  at  our  feet  I 


ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATONS.  Xxi 

The  feet  had  hardly  time  to  flee 
Before  it  brake  against  the  knee, 
And  all  the  world  was  in  the  sea.         Ingelow 

He  spoke  of  wrongs  too  long  endured, 

Of  sacred  rights  to  be  secured  ; 

Then  from  his  patriot  tongue  of  flame 

The  startling  words  for  Freedom  came. 

The  stirring  sentences  he  spake 

Compelled  the  heart  to  glow  or  quake, 

And  rising  on  his  theme's  broad  wing. 

And  grasping  in  his  nervous  hand 

The  imaginary  battle-brandy 

In  face  of  death  he  dared  to  fling 

Defiance  to  a  tyrant  king.  t.  B.  Read. 


Moderate. 

i  I  had  come  to  Stratford  on  a  poetical  pilgrimage.  My 
^Rrst  visit  was  to  the  house  where  Shakespeare  was  born, 
and  where,  according  to  tradition,  he  was  brought  up  to  his 
father's  craft  of  wool-combing.  It  is  a  small,  mean-looking 
edifice  of  wood  and  plaster,  a  true  nestling-place  of  genius, 
which  seems  to  delight  in  hatching  its  offspring  in  by-corners. 

Irving. 

And  so  beside  the  Silent  Sea 

I  wait  the  muflfled  oar ; 
No  harm  from  Him  can  come  to  me 

On  ocean  or  on  shore. 

I  know  not  where  His  islands  lift 

Their  fronded  palms  in  air ; 
I  only  know  I  cannot  drift 

Beyond  His  love  and  care,  Whittier. 


XXll  ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS. 

Let  not  Ambition  mock  their  useful  toil, 
Their  homely  joys,  and  destiny  obscure  ; 

Nor  Grandeur  hear  with  a  disdainful  smile 
The  short  and  simple  annals  of  the  poor. 

Perhaps  in  this  neglected  spot  is  laid 

Some  heart  once  pregnant  with  celestial  fire ; 

Hands  that  the  rod  of  empire  might  have  swayed, 
Or  waked  to  ecstasy  the  living  lyre.  Gray. 

The  effect  of  the  devotion  of  elegant  minds  to  rural  oc- 
cupations has  been  wonderful  on  the  face  of  the  country.  A 
great  part  of  the  island  is  rather  level,  and  would  be  monot- 
onous, were  it  not  for  the  charms  of  culture ;  but  it  is  stud- 
ded and  gemmed,  as  it  were,  with  castles  and  palaces,  and 
embroidered  with  parks  and  gardens.  It  does  not  abound 
in  grand  and  sublime  prospects,  but  rather  in  little  home- 
scenes  of  rural  repose  and  sheltered  quiet. 

Every  antique  farm-house,  and  moss-grown  cottage,  is  a 
picture;  and  as  the  roads  are  continually  winding,  and  the 
view  is  shut  in  by  groves  and  hedges,  the  eye  is  delighted 
by  a  continued  succession  of  small  landscapes  of  captivating 
loveliness.  Irving. 

If  when  I  meet  my  brother  man 
Adrift  on  lifers  uncertain  sea. 
To  him  I  give  what  'er  I  can. 
The  honor's  not  to  me. 

For  God  to  me  has  freely  given 
From  out  His  bounteous  store, 
So  give  I  of  the  all  I  have 
And  only  wish  t'wei«  more. 

And  as  I  leave  with  tearful  eyes, 
My  brother  who  to  me  was  sent, 
I  feel  that  God  has,  in  disguise. 
Another  blessing  to  me  lent. 


I 


ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS. 


XXUI 


Slow. 

The  curfew  tolls  the  knell  of  parting  day, 

The  lowing  herd  winds  slowly  o'er  the  lea, 

The  ploughman  homeward  plods  his  weary  way, 

And  leaves  the  world  to  darkness  and  to  me.      Gray. 


Heavy  and  solemn, 

A  cloudy  column. 
Through  the  green  plain  they  marching  come 
Measureless  spread,  like  a  table  dread, 
For  the  wild  grim  dice  of  the  iron  game. 
Looks  are  bent  on  the  shaking  ground, 
Hearts  beat  low  with  a  knelling  sound.  Schiller. 


O  mother  State  !  the  winds  of  March 
Blew  chill  o'er  Auburn's  Field  of  God, 
Whei'e,  slow,  beneath  a  leaden  arch 
Of  sky,  thy  mourning  children  trod. 

And  once  again  the  organ  swells. 
Once  more  the  flag  is  half-way  hung, 
And  yet  again  the  mournful  bells 
In  all  thy  steeple-towers  are  rung. 


Whittier. 


The  Lord  is  my  shepherd  :  I  shall  not  want. 
He  maketh  me  to  lie  down  in  green  pastures : 
He  leadeth  me  beside  the  still  waters. 
He  restoreth  my  soul  :   he  leadeth  me  in  the 
Paths  of  righteousness  for  His  name's  sake. 
Yea,  though  I  walk  through  the  valley  of  the 
Shadow  of  death,  I  will  fear  no  evil :  for  thou 
Art  with  me;  thy  rod  and  thy  stafl'they  comfort  me. 

Psalm  xxiii. 


XXIV  ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS. 

And  the  raven,  never  flitting,  still  is  sitting,  still  is  sitting 
On  tiie  pallid  bust  of  Pallas,  just  above  my  chamber  door; 
And    his   eyes  have   all  the  seeming  of  a   demon's   that    is 

dreaming. 
And  the  lamp-light  o'er  him   streaming  throws  his  shadow 

on  the  floor ; 
And  my  soul  from  out  that  shadow  that  lies  floating  on  the 

floor 
Shall  be  lifted  —  nevermore  !  Poe. 

And  when,  to  guard  old  Bregenz, 

By  gateway,  street,  and  tower, 

The  warder  paces  all  night  long 

And  calls  each  passing  hour ; 

"Nine,"  "  ten,"  "•  eleven,"  he  cries  aloud, 

And  then  (O  crown  of  fame!) 

When  midnight  pauses  in  the  skies. 

He  calls  the  maiden's  name  ! 

Adelaide  Proctor. 


Very  Slow. 

Hear  the  tolling  of  the  bells,  — 

Iron  bells ! 
What  a  world  of  solemn  thought  their  monody 

compels ! 
In  the  silence  of  the  night. 
How  we  shiver  with  affright 
At  the  melancholy  menace  of  their  tone ! 
For  every  sound  that  floats 
From  the  rust  within  their  throats 

Is  a  groan. 
And  the  people,  —  ah,  the  people,  — 
They  that  dwell  up  in  the  steeple, 

All  alone, 


ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS.  XXV 

And  who,  tolling,  tolling,  tolling, 

In  that  mnfBed  monotone, 

Feel  a  glory  in  so  rolling 

On  the  human  heart  a  stone.  —  Poe. 

Slowly  and  sadly  we  laid  him  down, 

From  the  field  of  his  fame,  fresh  and  gory  ; 

We  carved  not  a  line  ;  we  raised  not  a  stone, 

But  we  left  him  alone  in  his  glory.  Wolfe, 

Break,  break,  break. 

On  thy  cold  gray  stones,  O  sea  ! 

And  I  would  that  my  tongue  could  utter 

The  thoughts  that  arise  in  me. 

Break,  break,  break, 

At  the  foot  of  thy  crags,  O  sea  ! 

But  the  tender  grace  of  a  day  that  is  dead 

Will  never  come  back  to  me.  Tennyson. 


FORCE. 


Force  is  the  degree  of  loudness  or  softness  which  is  given 
to  the  voice,  and  depends  upon  the  intensity  of  the  feelings 
or  emotions  of  the  speaker.  True  Force  is  given  to  speech 
by  intense  rather  than  loud  or  noisy  utterance. 

Gentle  force  is  used  in  the  expression  of  tenderness,  pathos, 
subdued  feeling,  and  calm  emotion. 

Moderate  is  used  in  simple  narration  and  description,  and 
in  animated  conversation. 

Loud  is  used  in  excited  utterance,  calling,  &c. 

Very  loud\%  used  in  shouting,  cheering,  anger,  defiance, &c. 


XXVI  ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS. 


Gentle. 

The  heights  by  great  men  gained  and  kept 
Were  not  attained  by  sudden  flight ; 

But  they,  while  their  companions  slept, 
Were  toiling  upwards  in  the  light. 

Longfellow. 

The  smallest  bark  on  life*s  tumultuous  ocean 

Will  leave  a  track  behind  for  evermore  ; 
The  lightest  wave  of  influence,  set  in  motion, 

Extends  and  widens  to  the  eternal  shore. 
We  should  be  wary,  then,  who  go  before 

A  myriad  yet  to  be,  and  we  should  take 
Our  bearing  carefully  where  breakers  roar 

And  fearful  tempests  gather :  one  mistake 

May  wreck  unnumbered  barks  that  follow  in  our  wake. 

Mrs.  S.  T.  Bolton. 

Life  is  a  bubble  which  any  breath  may  dissolve ;  wealth 
or  power  a  snowflake,  melting  momently  into  the  treacher- 
ous deep  across  whose  waves  we  are  floated  on  to  our  unseen 
destiny  ;  but  to  have  lived  so  that  one  less  orphan  shall  be 
called  to  choose  between  starvation  and  infamy,  to  have  lived 
so  that  some  eyes  of  those  whom  Fame  shall  never  know  are 
brightened,  and  others  suffused  at  the  name  of  the  beloved 
one,  —  so  that  the  few  who  knew  him  truly  shall  recognize 
him  as  a  bright,  warm,  cheering  presence,  which  was  here 
for  a  season  and  left  the  world  no  worse  for  his  stay  in  it, — 
this,  surely,  is  to  have  really  lived,  —  and  not  wholly  in  vain 

Horace  Greeley. 

Flow  gently,  sweet  Afton,  among  thy  green  braes. 
Flow  gently,  V\\  sing  thee  a  song  in  thy  praise  ; 
My  Mary's  asleep  by  thy  murmuring  stream. 
Flow  gently,  sweet  Afton,  disturb  not  her  dream. 


ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS.        XXVll 

How  lofty,  sweet  Afton,  thy  neighboring  hills, 
Far  mark'd  with  the  courses  of  clear  winding  rills ; 
There  daily  I  wander  as  noon  rises  high, 
My  flocks  and  my  Mary's  sweet  cot  in  my  eye. 

Burns. 

The  little  I  have  seen  of  the  world,  and  known  of  the  his- 
tory of  mankind,  teaches  me  to  look  on  the  errors  of  others 
in  sorrow,  and  not  in  anger.  When  I  take  the  history  of  one 
poor  heart  that  has  sinned  and  suftered,  and  represent  to  my- 
self the  struggles  and  temptations  it  has  passed  through  ; 
vicissitudes  of  hope  and  fear;  the  pressure  of  want;  the  de- 
sertion of  friends  ;  the  scorn  of  a  world  that  has  little  charity  ; 
the  desolation  of  the  mind's  sanctuary  ;  the  threatening  voices 
within  it ;  health  gone  ;  happiness  gone  ;  even  hope,  that  re- 
mains the  longest,  gone,  —  I  would  fain  lay  the  erring  soul 
of  my  fellow-man  tenderly  in  His  hand  from  whom  it  came. 

Longfellow. 

It  is  interesting  to  notice  how  some  minds  seem  almost  to 
create  theinselves,  springing  up  under  every  disadvantage, 
and  working  their  solitary  but  irresistible  way  through  a 
thousand  obstacles.  Nature  seems  to  delight  in  disappoint- 
ing the  assiduities  of  art,  with  which  it  would  rear  dulness 
to  maturity,  and  to  glory  in  the  vigor  and  luxuriance  of  her 
chance  productions.  She  scatters  the  seeds  of  genius  to  the 
winds,  and  though  some  may  perish  among  the  stony  places 
of  the  world,  and  some  may  be  choked  by  the  thorns  and 
brambles  of  earthly  adversity,  yet  others  will  now  and  then 
strike  root  even  in  the  clefts  of  the  rock,  struggle  bravely  up 
into  sunshine,  and  spread  over  their  sterile  birthplace  all  the 
beauties  of  vegetation.  Irving. 

Heaven  is  not  gained  in  a  single  bound  ; 
But  we  build  the  ladder  by  which  we  rise 
From  the  lowly  earth  to  the  vaulted  skies. 

And  we  mount  to  its  summit  round  by  round. 


XXVlll       ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS 

I  count  this  thing  to  be  grandly  true, 

That  a  noble  deed  is  a  step  toward  God, 
Lifting  the  soul  from  the  common  sod 

To  a  purer  air  and  a  broader  view. 

We  rise  by  things  that  are  'neath  our  feet ; 

By  what  we  have  mastered  of  good  and  gain  ; 

By  the  pride  deposed  and  the  passion  slain, 
And  the  vanquished  ills  that  we  hourly  meet. 

J.  G.  Holland. 

The  crown  and  glory  of  life  is  character.  It  is  tiie  noblest 
possession  of  a  man,  constituting  a  rank  in  itself,  and  an  es- 
tate iu  the  general  good-will;  dignifying  every  station,  and 
exalting  every  position  in  society.  It  exercises  a  greater 
power  than  wealth,  and  secures  all  the  honor  without  the 
jealousies  of  fame.  It  carries  with  it  an  influence  which 
always  tells,  —  for  it  is  the  result  of  proud  honor,  rectitude, 
and  consistency,  —  qualities  which,  perhaps,  more  than  any 
other,  command  the  general  confidence  and  respect  of  man- 
kind. Samuel  Smiles. 


Moderate. 

I  am  charged  with  ambition.  The  charge  is  true,  and  I 
glory  in  its  truth.  Who  ever  achieved  anything  great  in  let- 
ters, arts,  or  arms,  who  was  not  ambitious?  Caesar  was  not 
more  ambitious  than  Cicero.  It  was  but  in  another  wa\ . 
AM  greatness  is  born  of  ambition.  Let  the  ambition  be  ..• 
noble  one,  and  who  shall  blame  it?  William  Ware. 

Once  more  :  speak  clearly,  if  you  speak  at  all ; 
Carve  every  word  before  you  let  it  fall ; 
Don't,  like  a  lecturer  or  dramatic  star. 
Try  over  hard  to  roll  the  British  R ; 


ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS.  XXIX 

Do  put  your  accents  in  the  proper  spot ; 

Don't  —  let  me  beg  you  —  don't  say  "  How ?  "  for  ''  What  ?  " 

And  when  you  stick  on  conversation's  burs, 

Don't  strew  the  pathway  with  those  dreadful  urs. 

Holmes. 

Our  little  lives  are  kept  in  equipoise 
By  opposite  attractions  and  desires ; 

The  struggle  of  the  instinct  that  enjoys, 
And  the  more  noble  instinct  that  aspires. 

Longfellow. 


There  lies  upon  the  other  side  of  the  wide  Atlantic  a  beau- 
tiful island,  famous  in  story  and  in  song.  Its  area  is  not  so 
great  as  that  of  the  State  of  Louisiana,  while  its  population 
is  almost  half  that  of  the  Union.  It  has  given  to  the  world 
more  than  its  share  of  genius  and  of  greatness.  It  has  been 
prolific  in  statesmen,  warriors,  and  poets.  Its  brave  and 
generous  sons  have  fought  successfully  all  battles  but  their 
own.  In  wit  and  humor  it  has  no  equal ;  while  its  harp, 
like  its  history,  moves  to  tears  by  its  sweet  but  melancholy 
pathos.  S.  S.  Prentiss. 

Speak  the  speech,  I  pray  you,  as  I  pronounced  it  to  you, 
trippingly  on  the  tongue  ;  but  if  you  mouth  it,  as  many 
i)f  your  players  do,  I  had  as  lief  the  town-crier  spoke  my 
lines.  Nor  do  not  saw  the  air  too  much  with  your  hand, 
thus  ;  but  use  all  gently  :  for  in  the  very  torrent,  tempest,  and 
(as  I  may  say)  whirlwind  of  your  passion,  you  must  acquire 
and  beget  a  temperance,  that  may  give  it  smoothness.'  Oh, 
it  offends  me  to  the  soul,  to  hear  a  robustious  periwig-pated 
fellow  tear  a  passion  to  tatters,  to  very  rags,  to  split  the  ears 
of  the  groundlings  ;  who,  for  the  most  part,  are  capable  of 
nothing  but  inexplicable  dumb  shows,  and  noise.  I  would 
have  such  a  fellow  whipped  for  o'er-doing  Termagant ;  it 
out-herods  Herod,    Pray  you,  avoid  it.  Shakespeare. 


XXX  ADVANCED    READINGS    AND  /RECITATIONS. 

Sometimes  a  distant  sail  gliding  along  the  edge  of  the 
ocean  would  be  another  theme  of  idle  speculation.  How 
interesting  this  fragment  of  a  world  hastening  to  rejoin  the 
great  mass  of  existence  !  What  a  glorious  monument  of  hu- 
man invention,  that  has  thus  triumphed  over  wind  and  wave  ; 
has  brought  the  ends  of  the  earth  in  communion  ;  has  estab- 
lished an  interchange  of  blessings,  pouring  into  the  sterile 
regions  of  the  north  all  the  luxuries  of  the  south  ;  diffused  the 
light  of  knowledge  and  the  charities  of  cultivated  life  ;  and 
has  thus  bound  together  those  scattered  portions  of  the  hu- 
man race,  between  which  nature  seemed  to  have  thrown  an 
insurmountable  barrier !  Irving. 

Shall  I  be  left,  forgotten  in  the  dust, 

When  Fate,  relenting,  lets  the  flower  revive? 
Shall  Nature's  voice,  to  Man  alone  unjust, 

Bid  him,  though  doomed  to  perish,  hope  to  live? 
Is  it  for  this  fair  Virtue  oft  must  strive 

With  disappointment,  penury,  and  pain.'* 
No  !  Heaven's  immortal  Spring  shall  yet  arrive, 

And  man's  majestic  beauty  bloom  again. 

Bright  through  the  eternal  year  of  Love's  triumphant  reign. 

Beattie. 


Loud. 


Next,  Anger  rushed,  his  eyes  on  fire, 
In  lightnings  owned  his  secfet  stings; 

In  one  rude  clash  he  struck  the  lyre. 

And  swept,  with  hurried  hands,  the  strings. 

Collins. 

But,  my  lords,  who  is  the  man,  that,  in  addition  to  the 
disgraces  and  mischiefs  of  the  war,  has  dared  to  authorize 
and  associate  to  our  arins  the  tomahawk  and  scalping-knifc 
of  the  savage?  —  to  call  into  civilized  alliance  the  wild  and 
inhuman    inhabitant    of  the    woods?  —  to    delegate    to    the 


ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS.  XXXl 

merciless  Indian,  the  defence  of  disputed  rights,  and  to  wage 
the  horrors  of  his  barbarous  war  against  our  brethren?  My 
lords,  these  enormities  cry  aloud  for  redress  and  punishment. 

Lord  Chatham. 

Out  of  the  North  the  wild  news  came, 
Far  flashing  on  its  wings  of  flame, 
Swift  as  the  boreal  light  which  flies 
At  midnight  through  the  startled  skies. 
And  there  was  tumult  in  the  air. 

The  fife's  shrill  note,  the  drum's  loud  beat, 
And  through  the  wide  land  everywhere 

The  answering  tread  of  hurrying  feet ; 
While  the  first  oath  of  Freedom's  gun 
Came  on  the  blast  from  Lexington  ; 
And,  Concord,  roused,  no  longer  tame. 
Forgot  her  old  baptismal  name. 
Made  bare  her  patriot  arm  of  power. 
And  swelled  the  discord  of  the  hour. 

T.  B.  Read. 

The  war  is  actually  begun  !  The  next  gale,  that  sweeps 
from  the  north,  will  bring  to  our  ears  the  clash  of  resound- 
ing arms !  Our  brethren  are  already  in  the  field  !  Why 
stand  we  here  idle?  What  is  it  that  gentlemen  wish?  What 
would  they  have?  —  Is  life  so  dear,  or  peace  so  sweet,  as  to 
be  purchased  at  the  price  of  chains  and  slavery?  Forbid  it. 
Almighty  God  !  —  I  know  not  what  course  others  may  take ; 
but  as  for  me  —  give  me  liberty,  or  give  me  death  ! 

Patrick  Henry. 

Age  thou  art  shamed  ! 
Rome,  thou  hast  lost  the  breed  of  noble  bloods ! 
When  went  there  by  an  age,  since  the  great  flood, 
But  it  was  famed  with  more  than  with  one  man? 
Now  is  it  Rome  indeed,  and  room  enough, 
When  there  is  in  it  but  one  only  man. 


XXXU        ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS. 

Oh,  you  and  I  have  heard  our  fathers  say 

There  was  a  Brutus  once  that  would  have  brook'd 

Th'  eternal  Devil  to  keep  his  state  in  Rome 

As  easily  as  a  king  !  Shakespeare. 


Very  Loud. 
And  now  before  the  open  door  — 

The  warrior  priest  had  ordered  so  — 
The  enlisting  trumpet's  sudden  roar 
Rang  through  the  chapel,  o'er  and  o'er. 

Its  long  reverberating  blow, 
So  loud  and  clear,  it  seemed  the  ear 
Of  dusty  death  must  wake  and  hear. 
And  there  the  startling  drum  and  fife 
Fired  the  living  with  fiercer  life  ; 
While  overhead,  with  wild  increase, 
Forgetting  its  ancient  toll  of  peace, 

The  great  bell  swung  as  ne'er  before. 
It  seemed  as  it  would  never  cease ; 
And  every  word  its  ardor  ftung 
From  oflT  its  jubilant  iron  tongue 

Was,  ''  War  !  War  !  War  !  "     t.  B.  Read. 

Richelieu,  Ay,  is  it  so? 

Then  wakes  the  power  which  in  the  age  of  iron 
Bursts  forth  to  curb  the  great,  and  raise  the  low. 
Mark,  where  she  stands  —  around  her  form  I  draw 
The  awful  circle  of  our  solemn  church  ! 
Set  but  a  foot  within  that  holy  ground. 
And  on  thy  head  —  yea,  though  it  wore  a  crown  — 
I  launch  the  curse  of  Rome.  Bulwer 

On,  on,  you  noblest  English, 
Whose  blood  is  fetched  from  fiithers  of  war  proof! 
Fathers,  that,  like  so  many  Alexanders, 


ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS.       XXXIU 

Have,  in  these  parts,  from  morn  till  even  fought, 
And  sheathed  their  swords  for  lack  of  argument. 
I  see  you  stand  like  greyhounds  in  the  slips. 
Straining  upon  the  start.     The  game's  afoot; 
Follow  your  spirits,  and,  upon  this  charge. 
Cry,  —  Heaven  for  Harry  !  England  !  and  St.  George  ! 

Shakespeare. 


PITCH. 

Pitch  is  the  elevation  given  to  the  voice.  High  pitch  being 
used  in  the  expressions  of  acute  feelings  of  joy  and  grief,  pain, 
fear,  delight,  and  astonishment. 

Middle  pitch  should  be  used  in  the  expression  of  moderate 
emotion  and  unimpassioned  language,  simple  narration,  &c. 

Low  pitch  is  used  in  expressing  awe,  reverence,  sublimity, 
deep  and  settled  feeling. 

Very  low  is  employed  in  expressions  of  deep  solemnity, 
grandeur,  vastness,  &c. 


High. 


Merrily  swinging  on  brier  and  weed. 
Near  to  the  nest  of  his  little  dame, 
Over  the  mountain-side  or  mead, 

Robert  of  Lincoln  is  telling  his  name: 
Bob-o'-link,  bob-o'-link, 
Spink,  spank,  spink  ; 
Snug  and  safe  is  that  nest  of  ours. 
Hidden  among  the  summer  flowers. 

Chee,  chee,  chee.  Bryant. 

I  come  from  haunts  of  coot  and  hern, 

I  make  a  sudden  sally, 
And  sparkle  out  among  the  fern, 

To  bicker  down  a  valleyo 


XXXIV      ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS. 

I  chatter  over  stony  ways, 

In  little  sharps  and  trebles, 
I  bubble  into  eddying  bays, 

I  babble  on  the  pebbles. 

I  chatter,  chatter,  as  I  flow 

To  join  the  brimming  river; 
For  men  may  come  and  men  may  go. 

But  I  go  on  forever.  Tennyson. 

Hear  the  sledges  with  the  bells,  — 

Silver  Dells,  — 
What  a  world  of  merriment  their  melody  foretells, 
How  they  tinkle,  tinkle,  tinkle 
In  the  icy  air  of  night ! 
While  the  stars  that  oversprinkle 
All  the  heavens  seem  to  twinkle 
With  a  crystalline  delight; 
Keeping  time,  time,  time, 
In  a  sort  of  Runic  rhyme. 
To  the  tintinnabulation  that  so  musically  wells 
From  the  bells,  bells,  bells,  bells,  bells,  bells,  bells,  - 
From  the  jingling  and  the  tinkling  of  the  bells. 

POE. 

Oh  !  Then,  I  see  Queen  Mab  hath  been  with  you. 

She  comes. 
In  shape  no  bigger  than  an  agate  stone 
On  the  forefinger  of  an  alderman, 
Drawn  with  a  team  of  little  atomies 
Athwart  men's  noses,  as  they  lie  asleep ; 
Her  wagon-spokes  made  of  long  spinner's  legs ; 
The  cover,  of  the  wings  of  grasshoppers ; 
The  traces,  of  the  smallest  spider's  web ; 
The  collars,  of  the  moonshine's  watery  beams ; 
Her  whip,  of  cricket's  bone  ;  the  lash,  of  film  ; 
Her  wagoner,  a  small  gray -coated  gnat : 


ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS.        XXXV 

Her  chariot  is  an  empty  hazel-nut, 

Made  by  the  joiner  squirrel,  or  old  grub, 

Time  out  o'  mind  the  fairies*  coachmakers. 

Shakespeare. 


Middle. 


The  books  which  help  you  most  are  those  which  make 
you  think  most.  The  hardest  way  of  learning  is  by  easy 
reading ;  but  a  great  book  that  comes  from  a  great  thinker, 
is  a  ship  of  thought,  deep  freighted  with  truth  and  with 
beauty.  '     Theo.  Parker. 

Full  many  a  gem  of  purest  ray  serene 

The  dark,  unfathomed  caves  of  ocean  bear ; 

Full  many  a  flower  is  born  to  blush  unseen. 
And  waste  its  sweetness  on  the  desert  air. 

Gray 

There  is  a  tide  in  the  affairs  of  men, 

Which,  taken  at  its  flood,  leads  on  to  fortune ; 

Omitted,  all  the  voyage  of  their  life 

Is  bound  in  shallows  and  in  miseries: 

On  such  a  full  sea  are  we  now  afloat 

And  we  must  take  the  current  when  it  serves, 

Or  lose  our  venture.  Shakespeare. 

I  mourn  no  more  my  vanished  years: 

Beneath  a  tender  rain, 
An  April  rain  of  smiles  and  tears 

My  heart  is  young  again. 

The  west-winds  blow,  and,  singing  low 

I  hear  the  glad  streams  run. 
The  windows  of  my  soul  I  throw 

Wide  open  to  the  sun.  Whittier. 


XXXVl         ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS. 

It  is  a  pleasing  siglit  of  a  vSiinday  morning,  when  the  bell 
is  sending  its  sober  melody  across  the  quiet  fields,  to  behold 
the  peasantry  in  their  best  finery,  with  ruddy  faces  and  modest 
cheerfulness,  thronging  tranquilly  along  the  green  lanes 
to  church  ;  but  it  is  still  more  pleasing  to  see  them  in  the 
evenings,  gathering  about  their  cottage  doors,  and  appearing 
to  exult  in  the  humble  comforts  and  embellishments  which 
their  own  hands  have  spread  around  them.  Irving 

When  I  look  upon  the  tombs  of  the  great,  every  emotion 
of  envy  dies  in  me  ;  when  I  read  the  epitaphs  of  the  beautiful, 
every  inordinate  desire  goes  out ;  when  I  meet  with  the  grief 
of  parents  upon  a  tombstone,  my  heart  melts  with  compas- 
sion ;  when  I  see  the  tomb  of  the  parents  themselves,  I  con- 
sider the  vanity  of  grieving  for  those  whom  we  must  quickly 
follow.  When  I  see  kings  lying  by  those  who  deposed 
them,  —  when  I  consider  rival  wits  placed  side  by  side,  or 
the  holy  men  that  divided  the  world  with  their  contests  and 
disputes,  —  I  reflect  with  sorrow  and  astonishment  on  the 
little  competitions,  factions,  and  debates  of  mankind.  When 
I  read  the  several  dates  of  the  tombs,  of  some  that  died  yes- 
terday, and  some  six  hundred  years  ago,  I  consider  that  great 
day  when  we  shall  all  of  us  be  contemporaries,  and  make 
our  appearance  together.  Addison. 


Low. 


So  live,  that  when  thy  summons  cqmes  to  join 
The  innumerable  caravan  that  moves 
To  that  mysterious  realm,  where  each  shall  take 
His  chamber  in  the  silent  halls  of  death. 
Thou  go  not,  like  the  quarry-slave  at  night. 
Scourged  to  his  dungeon,  but  sustained  and  soothed 
By  an  unfaltering  trust,  approach  thy  grave 
Like  one  who  wraps  the  drapery  of  his  couch 
About  him,  and  lies  down  to  pleasant  dreams. 

Bryant. 


ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS.      XXXvii 

Down  the  dark  future,  through  long  generations, 
The  echoing  sounds  grow  fainter  and  then  cease  ; 

And  like  a  bell,  with  solemn,  sweet  vibrations, 

I  hear  once  more  the  voice  of  Clirist  say,  "  Peace  !  " 

Peace  !  and  no  longer  from  its  brazen  portals 
The  blast  of  war's  great  organ  shakes  the  skies ! 

But  beautiful  as  songs  of  the  immortals. 

The  holy  melodies  of  love  arise.  Longfellow. 

Sir,  before  God,  I  believe  the  hour  is  come.  My  judg- 
ment approves  this  measure,  and  my  whole  heart  is  in  it. 
All  that  I  have,  and  all  that  I  am,  and  all  that  I  hope  in  this 
life,  I  am  now  ready  here  to  stake  upon  it  I  and  I  leave  off 
as  I  begun,  that  live  or  die,  survive  or  perish,  I  am  for  the 
declaration.  It  is  niy  living  sentiment,  and  by  the  blessing 
of  God  it  shall  be  my  dying  sentiment,  independence  now, 
and  independence  forever.  Webster. 

''Farewell!  farewell!  base  world,  farewell !" 

In  touching  tones  exclaimed  a  bell ; 
''Life  is  a  boon,  to  mortals  given, 

To  fit  the  soul  for  bliss  in  Heaven ; 

Do  not  invoke  the  avenging  rod, 

Come  here  and  learn  the  way  to  God  ; 

Say  to  the  world.  Farewell !  farewell !  " 

Pealed  forth  the  Presbyterian  bell.  Bungay. 

I  call  upon  that  right  reverend,  and  this  most  learned 
bench,  to  vindicate  the  religion  of  their  God,  to  support  the 
justice  of  their  country.  I  call  upon  the  bishops  to  inter- 
pose the  unsullied  sanctity  of  their  lawn  ;  —  upon  the  judges 
to  interpose  the  purity  of  their  ermine,  to  save  us  from  this 
pollution.  I  call  upon  the  honor  of  your  lordships  to  rev- 
erence the  dignity  of  your  ancestors,  and  maintain  your 
own,  I  call  upon  the  spirit  and  humanity  of  my  country,  to 
vindicate  the  national  character.  Lord  Chatham. 


XXXVIU      ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS. 

Vkry  Low. 

O  thou  that  rollcst  above,  round  as  the  shield  of  my 
fiithers !  whence  are  thy  beams,  O  sun  !  thy  everlasting 
light?  Thou  comest  forth  in  thy  awful  beauty:  the  stars 
hide  themselves  in  the  sky  ;  the  moon,  cold  and  pale,  sinks 
in  tlie  western  wave.  Ossian. 

Thou  glorious  mirror,  where  the  Almighty's  form 
Glasses  itself  in  tempests;  in  all  time, 
Calm  or  convulsed  —  in  breeze  or  gale  or  storm, 
Icing  the  pole,  or  in  the  torrid  clime 
Dark  heaving;  —  boundless,  endless,  and  sublime  — 
The  image  of  Eternity  —  the  throne 
Of  the  Invisible ;  even  from  out  thy  slime 
The  monsters  of  the  deep  are  made ;  each  zone 
Obeys  thee !  thou  goest  forth,  dread,  fathonaless,  alone. 

Byron. 

Hark!  on  the  winds, 
The  bell's  deep  tones  are  swelling:  'tis  the  knell 
Of  the  departed  year.     No  funeral  train 
Is  sweeping  past ;  yet,  on  the  stream  and  wood. 
With  melancholy  light,  the  moonbeams  rest. 
Like  a  pale,  spotless  shroud  ;  the  air  is  stirred 
As  by  a  mourner's  sigh  ;  and  on  yon  cloud, 
That  floats  so  still  and  placidly  through  heaven, 
The  spirits  of  the  seasons  seem  to  stand, — 
Young  Spring,  bright  Summer,  x\utumn's  solemn  form, 
And  Winter  with  his  aged  locks,  —  and  breathe. 
In  mournful  cadences  that  come  abroad 
Like  the  far  wind-harp's  wild  and  touching  wail, 
A  melancholy  dirge  o'er  the  dead  year. 
Gone  from  the  earth  forever.  Geo.  D.  Prentice. 


I 


ADVANCED  READINGS  AND  RECITATIONS. 


AMERICAN  BATTLE-FLAGS, 

From  Europe  Mr.  Sumner  returned  late  in  the  fall  of 
1872,  much  strengthened,  but  far  from  being  well.  At  the 
opening  of  the  session  he  reintroduced  two  measures,  which, 
as  he  thought,  should  complete  the  record  of  his  political 
life.  One  was  his  civil-rights  bill,  which  had  failed  in  the 
last  Congress  ;  and  the  other,  a  resolution  providing  that  the 
names  of  the  battles  won  over  fellow-citizens  in  the  war  of 
the  Rebellion  should  be  removed  from  the  regimental  colors 
of  the  army,  and  from  the  army  register. 

It  was  in  substance  only  a  repetition  of  a  resolution 
which  he  had  introduced  ten  years  before,  in  1863,  during 
the  war,  when  the  first  names  of  victories  were  put  on 
American  battle-flags.  This  resolution  called  forth  a  new 
storm  against  him.  It  was  denounced  as  an  insult  to  the 
heroic  soldiers  of  the  Union,  and  a  degradation  of  their  vic- 
tories and  well-earned  laurels.  It  was  condemned  as  an 
unpatriotic  act. 

Charles  Sumner  insult  the  soldiers  who  had  spilled  their 
blood  in  a  war  for  human  rights!  Charles  vSumner  degrade 
victories,  and  depreciate  laurels,  won  for  the  cause  of  uni- 
versal freedom  !  —  how  strange  an  imputation  ! 

Let  the  dead  man  have  a  hearing.  This  was  his  thought: 
No  civilized  nation,  from  the  republics  of  antiquity  down 
to  our  days,  ever  thought  it  wise  or  patriotic  to  preserve  in 
conspicuous  and  durable  form  the  mementos  of  victories 
won  over  fellow-citizens  in  civil  war.     Why  not?     Because 

9 


!/>'<  .'  ^'ci^fiv^c4^C|i|3^^RE%pjlSrbs    AND    RECITATIONS. 

every  citizen  should  feel  himself  with  all  others  as  the  child 
of  a  common  country,  and  not  as  a  defeated  foe.  All  civil- 
ized governments  of  our  days  have  instinctively  followed 
the  same  dictate  of  wisdom  and  patriotism. 

The  Irishman,  when  fighting  for  old  England  at  Water- 
loo, was  not  to  behold  on  the  red  cross  floating  above  him 
the  name  of  the  Boyne.  The  Scotch  Highhinder,  when 
standing  in  the  trenches  of  Sebastopol,  was  not  by  the  colors 
of  his  regiment  to  be  reminded  of  Culloden.  No  French 
soldier  at  Austerlitz  or  Solferino  had  to  read  upon  the 
tricolor  any  reminiscence  of  the  Vendee.  No  Hungarian 
at  Sadowa  was  taunted  by  any  Austrian  banner  with  the 
surrender  of  Villagos.  No  German  regiment  from  Saxony 
or  Hanover  charging  under  the  iron  hail  of  Gravelot,  was 
made  to  remember,  by  words  written  on  a  Prussian  stand- 
ard, that  the  black  eagle  had  conquered  them  at  Konig- 
gratz  and  Langensalza. 

Should  the  son  of  South  Carolina,  when  at  some  future 
day  defending  the  Republic  against  some  foreign  foe,  be 
reminded,  by  an  inscription  on  the  colors  floating  over  him, 
that  under  this  flag  the  gun  was  fired  that  killed  his  father 
at  Gettysburg.?  Should  this  great  and  enlightened  Republic, 
proud  of  standing  in  the  front  of  human  progress,  be  less 
wise,  less  large-hearted,  than  the  ancients  were  two  thou- 
sand years  ago,  and  the  kingly  governments  of  Europe  are 
to-day  ? 

Let  the  battle-flags  of  the  brave  volunteers,  which  thev 
brought  home  from  the  war  with  the  glorious  record  of 
their  victories,  be  preserved  intact  as  a  proud  ornament  (f 
our  State  Houses  and  armories,  but  let  the  colors  of  the  army, 
under  which  the  sons  of  all  the  States  are  to  meet  and  min- 
gle in  common  patriotism,  speak  of  nothing  but  union, — 
not  a  union  of  conquerors  and  conquered,  but  a  union  which 
is  the  mother  of  all,  equally  tender  to  all,  knowing  of  noth- 
ing but  equality,  peace,  and  love  among  her  children. 

Do  you  want  conspicuous  mementos  of  your  victories? 
They  are   written  upon  the  dusky  brow   of  every  freeman 


ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS.  11 

who  was  once  a  slave  ;  they  are  written  on  the  gate-posts 
of  a  restored  Union  ;  and  the  most  glorious  of  all  will  be 
written  on  the  faces  of  a  contented  people,  reunited  in  com- 
mon national  pride. 

Such  were  the  sentiments  which  inspired  that  resolution. 
Such  were  the  sentiments  which  called  forth  a  storm  of 
obloquy.  Such  were  the  sentiments  for  which  the  Legisla- 
ture of  Massachusetts  passed  a  solemn  resolution  of  censure 
upon  Charles  Sumner,  —  Massachusetts,  his  own  Massa- 
chusetts, whom  he  loved  so  ardently  with  a  filial  love,  of 
whom  he  was  so  proud,  who  had  honored  him  so  much  in 
days  gone  by,  and  whom  he  had  so  long  and  so  faithfully 
labored  to  serve  and  to  honor. 

Oh !  those  w^ere  evil  days,  that  winter ;  days  sad  and 
(lark,  when  he  sat  there  in  his  lonesome  chamber,  unable 
to  leave  it,  the  world  moving  around  him,  and  in  it  so  much 
that  was  hostile,  and  he  —  prostrated  by  the  tormenting  dis- 
ease, which  had  returned  with  fresh  violence  —  unable  to 
defend  himself,  and  with  this  bitter  arrow  in  his  heart. 
Why  was  that  resolution  held  up  to  scorn  and  vituperation 
as  an  insult  to  the  brave,  and  an  unpatriotic  act.?  Why  was 
he  not  attacked  and  condemned  for  it  when  he  first  offered 
it,  ten  years  before,  and  when  he  was  in  the  fulness  of  man- 
hood and  power?     If  not  then,  why  now.?     Why  now.? 

I  shall  never  forget  the  melancholy  hours  I  sat  with  him, 
seeking  to  lift  him  up  with  cheering  words,  and  he  —  his 
frame  for  hours  racked  with  excruciating  pain,  and  then 
exhausted  with  suffering  —  gloomily  brooding  over  the 
thought  that  he  might  die  so. 

How  thankful  I  am,  how  thankful  every  human  soul  in 
Massachusetts,  how  thankful  every  American  must  be,  that 
he  did  not  die  then  !  —  and,  indeed,  more  than  once  death 
seemed  to  be  knocking  at  his  door,  —  how  thankfiil  that  he 
was  spared  to  see  the  day,  when  the  people,  by  striking 
developments,  were  convinced  that  those  who  had  acted  as 
he  did  had  after  all  not  been  impelled  by  mere  whims  of 
vanity,    or   reckless   ambition,   or   sinister   designs,  but   had 


12  ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS. 

good  and  patriotic  reasons  for  what  they  did  ,  when  the 
heart  of  Massachusetts  came  back  to  him  full  of  the  old  love 
and  confidence,  assuring  him  that  he  would  again  be  her 
chosen  son  for  her  representative  seat  in  the  House  ot 
States;  when  the  lawgivers  of  the  old  Commonwealth, 
obeying  an  irresistible  impulse  of  justice,  wiped  away  from 
the  records  of  the  Legislature,  and  from  the  fair  name  of  the 
State,  that  resolution  of  censure  which  had  stung  him  so 
deeply  ;  and  when  returning  vigor  lifted  him  up,  and  a  new 
sunburst  of  hope  illumined  his  life  !  How  thankful  we  all 
are  that  he  lived  that  one  year  longer  ! 

And  yet, — have  you  thought  of  it? — if  he  had  died  in 
those  dark  da3'S,  when  so  many  clouds  hung  over  him, 
would  not  then  the  much-vilHfied  man  have  been  the  same 
Charles  Sumner,  whose  death  but  one  year  later  afflicted 
millions  of  hearts  with  a  pang  of  bereavement,  wliose  praise 
is  now  on  every  lip  for  the  purity  of  his  life,  for  his  fidelity 
to  great  principles,  and  for  the  loftiness  of  his  patriotism? 

Was  he  not  a  year  ago  the  same,  —  the  same  in  purpose, 
the  same  in  principle,  the  same  in  character?  What  had 
he  done  then  that  so  many  who  praise  him  to-day  should 
have  then  disowned  him?  See  what  he  had  done.  He 
had  simply  been  true  to  his  convictions  of  duty.  He  had 
approved  and  urged  what  he  thought  right ;  he  had  attacked 
and  opposed  what  he  thought  wrong. 

To  his  convictions  of  duty  he  had  sacrificed  political  asso- 
ciations most  dear  to  him,  the  security  of  his  position  of 
which  he  was  proud.  For  his  convictions  of  duty  he  had 
stood  up  against  those  more  powerful  than  he  ;  he  had  ex- 
posed himself  to  reproach,  obloquy,  and  persecution.  Had 
he  not  done  so,  he  would  not  have  been  the  man  you  praise  to- 
day ;   and  yet  for  doing  so  he  was  cried  down  but  yesterday. 

He  had  lived  up  to  the  great  word  he  spoke  when  he 
entered  the  Senate, —  ''The  slave  of  principle,  I  call  no 
party  master."  That  declaration  was  greeted  with  ap- 
plause ;  and  wdien,  true  to  his  word,  he  refused  to  call  a 
party  master,  the  act  was  covered  with  reproach. 

Carl  Schurz. 


ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS.  13 


ON  THE  SHORES   OF   TENNESSEE, 

"  Move  my  arm-chair,  faithful  Pompey, 

In  the  sunshine  bright  and  strong, 
For  this  world  is  fading,  Pompey, — 

Massa  won't  be  with  you  long  ; 
And  I  fain  would  hear  the  south  wind 

Bring  once  more  the  sound  to  me 
Of  the  wavelets  softly  breaking 

On  the  shores  of  Tennessee. 

"  Mournful  though  the  ripples  murmur, 

As  they  still  the  story  tell. 
How  no  vessels  float  the  banner 

That  Fve  loved  so  long  and  well, 
I  shall  listen  to  their  music. 

Dreaming  that  again  I  see 
Stars  and  Stripes  on  sloop  and  shallop, 

Sailing  up  the  Tennessee. 

"And,  Pompey,  while  old  Massa 's  waiting 

For  Death's  last  despatch  to  come, 
If  that  exiled  starry  banner 

Should  come  proudly  sailing  home, 
You  shall  greet  it,  slave  no  longer,  — 

Voice  and  hand  shall  both  be  free,  — 
That  shout  and  point  to  Union  colors, 

On  the  waves  of  Tennessee." 

"  Massa 's  berry  kind  to  Pompey; 

But  ole  darky 's  happy  here, 
Where  he  's  tended  corn  and  cotton 

For  'ese  many  a  long-gone  year. 
Over  yonder  Missis's  sleeping,  — 

No  one  tends  her  grave  like  me ; 
Mebbe  she  would  miss  the  flowers 

She  used  to  love  in  Tennessee. 


14  ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    REClTATIONSc 

''  'Pears  like  she  was  watching,  Massa, 

If  Pompey  should  beside  him  stay  ; 
Mebbe  she'd  remember  better 

How  for  him  she  used  to  pray  ; 
Telling  him  that  way  up  yonder 

White  as  snow  his  soul  would  be, 
If  he  served  the  Lord  of  heaven 

While  he  lived  in  Tennessee." 

Silently  the  tears  were  rolling 

Down  the  poor  old  dusky  face, 
As  he  stepped  behind  his  master. 

In  his  long-accustomed  place. 
Then  a  silence  fell  around  them, 

As  they  gazed  on  rock  and  tree, 
Pictured  in  the  placid  waters 

Of  the  rolling  Tennessee  ;  — 

Master,  dreaming  of  the  battle 

Where  he  fought  by  Marion's  side. 
When  he  bid  the  haughty  Tarleton 

Stoop  his  lordly  crest  of  pride  ; 
Man,  remembering  how  yon  sleeper 

Once  he  held  upon  his  knee, 
Ere  she  loved  the  gallant  soldier, 

Ralph  Vervair,  of  Tennessee. 

Still  the  south  wind  fondly  lingers 

'Mid  the  veteran's  silvery  hair ; 
Still  the  bondman,  close  beside  him, 

Stands  behind  the  old  arm-chair. 
With  his  dark-hued  hand  uplifted. 

Shading  eyes,  he  bends  to  see 
Where  the  woodland,  boldly  jutting, 

Turns  aside  the  Tennessee. 

Thus  he  watches  cloud-born  shadows 
Glide  from  tree  to  mountain  crest. 

Softly  creeping,  aye  and  ever. 
To  the  river's  yielding  breast. 


ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS.  15 

Ha  !   above  the  foliage  yonder 

Something  flutters  wild  and  free! 
''  Massa  !  Massa  !   hallelujiiah  ! 

The  flag  's  come  back  to  Tennessee  !  " 

''  Pompey,  hold  me  on  your  shoulder, 

Help  me  stand  on  foot  once  more, 
That  I  may  salute  the  colors 

As  they  pass  my  cabin  door. 
Here 's  the  paper  signed  that  frees  you  ; 

Give  a  freeman's  shout  with  me  — 
*  God  and  Union  !  *  be  our  watchword 

Evermore  in  Tennessee." 

Then  the  trembling  voice  grew  fainter, 

And  the  limbs  refused  to  stand  ; 
One  prayer  to  Jesus  —  and  the  soldier 

Glided  to  that  better  land. 
When  the  flag  went  down  the  river, 

Man  and  master  both  were  free, 
While  the  ring-dove's  note  was  mingled 

With  the  rippling  Tennessee. 

E.  S.  Beers. 


P/^ESS  ON. 


Press  on  ;  there's  no  such  word  as  fail ; 

Press  nobly  on  !  the  goal  is  near,  — 
Ascend  the  mountain  !  breast  the  gale  ! 

Look  upward,  onward, — never  fear! 
Why  should'st  thou  faint?  Heaven  smiles  above 

Though  storm  and  vapor  intervene  ; 
That  sun  shines  on,  whose  name  is  Love, 

Serenely  o'er  life's  shadowed  scene. 


16  ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS. 

Press  on  !   surmomit  the  rocky  steeps, 

Climb  boldly  o'er  the  torrents'  arch  ; 
He  fails  alone  who  feebly  creeps  ; 

He  wins  who  dares  the  hero's  march. 
Be  thou  a  hero  !  let  thy  might 

Tramp  on  eternal  snows  its  way, 
And  through  the  ebon  walls  of  night, 

Hew  down  a  passage  unto  day. 

Press  on  !   if  once,  and  twice  thy  feet 

Slip  back  and  stumble,  harder  try  ; 
From  him  who  never  dreads  to  meet 

Danger  and  death,  they're  sure  to  fly. 
To  coward  ranks  the  bullet  speeds  ; 

While  on  their  breasts  who  never  quail. 
Gleams,  guardian  of  chivalric  deeds, 

Bright  courage  like  a  coat  of  mail. 

Press  on  !  if  fortune  play  thee  false 

To-day,  to-morrow  she'll  be  true  ; 
Whom  now  she  sinks,  she  now  exalts, 

Taking  old  gifts  and  granting  new. 
The  wisdom  of  the  present  hour, 

Makes  up  for  follies  past  and  gone  ; 
To  weakness  strength  succeeds,  and  power 

From  frailty  springs  —  Press  on  !  pvGss  on  ! 

Press  on  !  what  though  upon  the  ground 

Thy  love  has  been  poured  out  like  rain? 
That  happiness  is  always  found 

The  sweetest  that  is  born  of  pain. 
Oft  'mid  the  forest's  deepest  glooms, 

A  bird  sings  from  some  blighted  tree: 
And  in  the  dreariest  desert,  blooms 

A  never  dying  ros^  for  thee. 


I 


ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS.  17 

Therefore  press  on  !   and  reach  the  goal, 

And  gain  the  prize,  and  wear  tlie  crown  ; 
Faint  not !   for  to  the  steadfast  soul. 

Come  wealth  and  honor  and  renown. 
To  thine  own  self  be  true,  and  keep 

Thy  mind  from  sloth,  thy  heart  from  soil; 
Press  on  !   and  thou  shalt  surely  reap 

A  heavenly  harvest  for  thy  toil. 

Park  Benjamin. 


ROME  AND   CARTHAGE, 

Rome  and  Carthage  !  —  behold  them  drawing  near  for 
the  struggle  that  is  to  shake  the  world  !  Carthage,  the  me- 
tropolis of  Africa,  is  the  mistress  of  oceans,  of  kingdoms, 
and  of  nations;  a  magnificent  city,  burdened  with  opulence, 
radiant  with  the  strange  arts  and  trophies  of  the  East.  She 
is  at  the  acme  of  her  civilization.  She  can  mount  no  higher. 
Any  change  now  must  be  a  decline.  Rome  is  comparatively 
poor.  She  has  seized  all  within  her  grasp,  but  rather  from 
the  lust  of  conquest  than  to  fill  her  own  cofier^.  She  is 
demi-barbarious,  and  has  her  education  and  her  forttme  both 
to  make.  All  is  before  her,  — nothing  behind.  For  a  time 
these  two  nations  exist  in  view  of  each  other.  The  one 
reposes  in  the  noontide  of  her  splendor ;  the  other  waxes 
strong  in  the  shade.  But,  little  by  little,  air  and  space  are 
wanting  to  each,  for  her  development.  Rome  begins  to 
perplex  Carthage,  and  Carthage  is  an  eyesore  to  Rome. 
Seated  on  opposite  banks  of  the  Mediterranean,  the  two 
cities  look  each  other  in  the  face.  The  sea  no  longer  keeps 
them  apart.  Europe  and  Africa  weigh  upon  each  other. 
Like  two  clouds  surcharged  with  electricity,  they  impend. 
With  their  contact  must  come  the  thunder-shock. 

The    catastrophe   of   this  stupendous    drama    is   at   hand 


18  ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS. 

Whiit  actors  are  met!  Two  races,  —  that  of  merchants 
and  mariners,  that  of  laborers  and  soldiers;  two  Nations, — 
the  one  dominant  by  gold,  the  other  by  steel ;  two  Repub- 
lics,—  the  one  tiieocratic,  the  other  aristocratic.  Rome  and 
Carthage  !  Rome  with  her  army,  Carthage  with  her  fleet ; 
Carthage,  old,  rich,  and  crafty,  —  Rome,  young,  poor,  and 
robust ;  the  past,  and  the  future  ;  the  spirit  of  discovery,  and 
the  spirit  of  conquest ;  the  genius  of  commerce,  the  demon 
of  war ;  the  East  and  the  South  on  one  side,  the  West  and 
the  North  on  the  other  ;  in  short,  two  worlds,  —  the  civiliza- 
tion of  Africa,  and  the  civilization  of  Europe.  They  meas- 
ure each  other  from  head  to  foot.  They  gather  all  their 
forces.  Gradually  the  war  kindles.  The  world  takes  fire. 
These  colossal  powers  are  locked  in  deadly  strife.  Carthage 
has  crossed  the  Alps  ;  Rome,  the  seas.  The  two  Nations, 
personified  in  two  men,  Hannibal  and  Scipio,  close  with 
each  other,  wrestle,  and  grow  infuriate.  The  duel  is  desper- 
ate. It  is  a  struggle  for  life.  Rome  wavers.  She  utters 
that  cry  of  anguish  —  Hannibal  at  the  gates  I  But  she  ral 
lies,  —  collects  all  her  strength  for  one  last,  appalling  efibrt, 
—  throws  herself  upon  Carthage,  and  sweeps  her  from  tlic 

face  of  tLe  earth  ! 

Victor  Hugo. 


SHYLOCK'S  SOLILOQUY,    AND  HIS  ADDRESS  TO 
ANTONIO. 

How  like  a  fawning  publican  he  looks  I 

1  hate  him  ;  for  he  is  a  Christian  : 

But  more  for  that,  in  low  simplicity, 

He  lends  out  money  gratis,  and  brings  down 

The  rate  of  usance  here  with  us  in  Venice. 

If  I  can  catch  him  once  upon  the  hip, 

I  will  feed  fat  the  ancient  grudge  1  bear  him. 

He  hates  our  sacred  nation  ;  and  he  rails. 

Even  there  where  merchants  most  do  congregate, 


ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS.  19 

On  me,  my  bargains,  and  my  well-won  thrift. 
Which  he  calls  interest.  Cursed  be  my  tribe, 
If  I  forgive  him  ! 

Signior  Antonio,  many  a  time,  and  oft 

In  the  Rialto,  you  have  rated  me 

About  my  moneys,  and  my  usances : 

Still  have  I  borne  it  with  a  patient  shrug ; 

For  suflerance  is  the  badge  of  all  our  tribev 

You  call  me  —  misbeliever,  cut-throat,  dog, 

And  spit  upon  my  Jewish  gabardine,  — 

And  all  for  use  of  that  which  is  mine  own. 

Well,  then,  it  now  appears,  you  need  my  help: 

Go  to,  then  ;  you  come  to  me,  and  you  say, 

"  Shylock,  we  would  have  moneys  ;  "  you  say  so,  — 

You  that  did  void  your  rheum  upon  my  beard. 

And  foot  me,  as  you  spurn  a  stranger  cur 

Over  your  threshold  :   moneys  is  your  suit. 

What  shall  I  say  to  you?     Shall  I  not  say, 

"  Hath  a  dog  money.'*     Is  it  possible, 

A  cur  can  lend  three  thousand  ducats  .^^  '*     Or 

Shall  I  bend  low,  and  in  a  bondman's  key, 

With  bated  breath,  and  whispering  humbleness, 

Say  this  :  — 

"  Fair  sir,  you  spit  on  me  on  Wednesday  last ; 

You  spurned  me  such  a  day  ;   another  time 

You  called  me  —  dog  ;  and  for  these  courtesies 

I'll  lend  you  thus  much  moneys.''  "  — 

Why,  look  you,  how  you  storm  ! 

I  would  be  friends  with  you,  and  have  your  love  ; 

Forgettheshamesthat  you  have  stained  me  with  ; 

Supply  your  wants  and  take  no  doit 

Of  usance  for  my  moneys  ;   and  you'll  not  hear  me. 

This  is  kind  I  oflbr  ;   and  this  kindness  will  I  show 

Go  with  me  to  a  notary  ;   seal  me  there 
Your  single  bond  ;  and,  in  merry  sport, 


20  ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS. 

If  you  repay  me  not  on  such  a  day, 
In  such  a  phice,  such  sum,  or  sums,  as  are 
Expressed  in  the  condition,  let  the  forfeit 
Be  nominated  for  an  equal  pound 
Of  your  fair  flesh,  to  be  cut  oft^  and  taken 
In  what  part  of  your  body  pleaseth  me. 
Meet  me  forthwith  at  the  notary's  ; 
Give  him  direction  for  this  merry  bond  ; 
And  I  will  go  and  purse  the  ducats  straight. 
See  to  my  house,  left  in  the  fearful  guard 
Of  an  unthrifty  knave,  and  presently  be  with  you. 

Shakespeare. 


PAULS   DEFENCE    BEFORE    A  GRIP  PA. 

Then  Agrippa  said  unto  Paul,  Thou  art  permitted  to 
speak  for  thyself.  Then  Paul  stretched  forth  the  hand,  and 
answered  for  himself:  I  think  myself  happy,  King  Agrippa, 
because  I  shall  answ^er  for  myself  this  day  before  thee 
touching  all  the  things  whereof  I  am  accused  of  the  Jews: 
especially  because  I  know  thee  to  be  expert  in  all  customs 
and  questions  which  are  among  the  Jews :  wherefore  I  be- 
seech thee  to  hear  me  patiently. 

My  manner  of  life  from  my  youth,  which  was  at  the  first 
among  mine  own  nation  at  Jerusalem,  know  all  the  Jews ; 
which  knew  me  from  the  beginning,  if  they  would  testify, 
that  after  the  most  straitest  sect  of  our  religion  I  lived  a 
Pharisee.  And  now  I  stand  and  am  judged  for  the  hope  of 
the  promise  made  of  God  unto  our  f^ithers :  unto  which 
promise  our  twelve  tribes,  instantly  serving  God  day  and 
niglit,  hope  to  come.  For  which  hope's  sake.  King  Agrippa, 
I  am  accused  of  the  Jews. 

Why  should  it  be  thought  a  thing  incredible  with  you, 
that  God  should  raise  the  dead?  I  verily  thought  with  my- 
self, that  I  ought  to  do  many  things  contrary  to  the  name 
of  Jesus  of  Nazareth.    Which  thing  I  also  did  in  Jerusalem  ; 


ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS.  21 

and  many  of  t!ie  saints  did  I  shut  up  in  prison,  having  re« 
ceived  authority  from  the  chief  priests  ;  and  when  they  were 
put  to  death,  I  gave  my  voice  against  them.  And  I  pun- 
ished them  oft  in  every  synagogue,  and  compelled  them  to 
blaspheme ;  and  being  exceedingly  mad  against  them,  I 
persecuted  them  even  unto  strange  cities. 

Wereupon  as  I  went  to  Damascus  with  authority  and 
commission  from  the  chief  priests,  at  mid-day,  O  king,  I 
saw  in  the  way  a  light  from  heaven,  above  the  brightness 
of  the  sun,  shining  round  about  me  and  them  which 
journeyed  with  me.  And  when  we  were  all  fallen  to  the 
earth,  I  heard  a  voice  speaking  unto  me,  and  saying  in  the 
Hebrew  tongue,  Saul,  Saul,  why  persecutest  thou  me?  it 
is  hard  for  thee  to  kick  against  the  pricks.  And  I  said, 
Who  art  thou.  Lord  ?  And  he  said,  I  am  Jesus  wliom  thou 
persecutest.  But  rise,  and  stand  upon  thy  feet :  for  I  have 
appeared  unto  thee  for  this  purpose,  to  make  the  a  minister 
and  a  witness  both  of  these  things  which  thou  hast  seen, 
and  of  those  things  in  the  which  I  will  appear  unto  thee  ; 
delivering  thee  from  the  people,  and  from  the  Gentiles,  unto 
whom  now  I  send  thee,  to  open  their  eyes,  and  to  turn  them 
from  darkness  to  light,  and  from  the  power  of  Satan  unto 
God,  that  they  may  receive  forgiveness  of  sins,  and  inheri- 
tance among  them  which  are  sanctified  by  faith  that  is  in  me. 

Whereupon,  O  King  Agrippa,  I  was  not  disobedient  unto 
the  heavenly  vision  :  but  showed  first  unto  them  of  Damas- 
cus, and  at  Jerusalem,  and  throughout  all  the  coasts  of  Judea, 
and  then  to  the  Gentiles,  that  they  should  repent  and  turn  to 
God,  and  do  works  meet  for  repentance.  For  these  causes 
the  Jews  caught  me  in  the  temple,  and  went  about  to  kill 
me.  Having  therefore  obtained  help  of  God,  I  continue 
unto  this  day,  witnessing  both  to  small  and  great,  saying 
none  other  things  than  those  which  the  prophets  and  Moses 
did  say  should  come  :  that  Christ  should  sufier,  and  that  he 
should  be  the  first  that  should  rise  from  the  dead,  and  should 
show  light  unto  the  people,  and  to  the  Gentiles. 

And  as  he  thus  spake  for  himself,  Festus  said  with  a  loud 


22  ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS. 

voice,  Paul,  thou  art  beside  thyself;  much  learning  doth 
make  thee  mad. 

But  he  said,  1  am  not  mad,  most  noble  Festus  ;  but  speak 
forth  the  words  of  truth  and  soberness.  For  the  king  know- 
eth  of  these  things,  before  whom  also  I  speak  freely  :  for  I 
am  persuaded  that  none  of  these  things  are  hidden  from 
him  ;  for  this  thing  was  not  done  in  a  corner.  King  Agrip- 
pa,  believest  thou  the  prophets  ?  I  know  that  thou  believest. 
Then  Agrippa  said  unto  Paul,  Almost  thou  persuadest  me 
to  be  a  Christian.  And  Paul  said,  I  would  to  God,  that  not 
only  thou,  but  also  all  that  hear  me  this  diiy,  were  both 
almost  and  altogether  such  as  I  am,  except  these  bonds. 

And  when  he  had  thus  spoken,  the  king  rose  up,  and  the 
governor,  and  Bernice,  and  they  that  sat  with  them  :  and 
when  they  were  gone  aside,  they  talked  between  themselves, 
saying.  This  man  doeth  nothing  worthy  of  death  or  of 
bonds.  Then  said  Agrippa  unto  Festus,  This  man  might 
have  been  set  at  liberty,  if  he  had  not  appealed  unto  Caesar. 

Bible. 


RELIEVING    GUARD. 

Came  the  relief,  "  What,  sentry,  ho  ! 

How  passed  the  night  through  thy  long  waking?  " 
''  Cold,  cheerless,  dark,  —  as  may  befit 

The  hour  before  the  dawn  is  breakitig." 

"  No  sight?  no  sound  ?  "     ''  No  ;  nothing  save 
The  plover  from  the  marshes  calling.  . 

And  in  yon  western  sky,  about 
An  hour  ago,  a  star  was  falling." 

*'  A  star?     There's  nothing  strange  in  that." 
''  No,  nothing;  but,  above  the  thicket, 

b'omehow  it  seemed  to  me  that  God 

Somewhere  had  just  relieved  a  picket." 

Bret  Harte 


ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS.  23 


SHAMUS    O'BRIEN 

JiST  afther  the  war,  in  the  year  '98, 

As  soon  as  the  boys  wor  all  scattered  and  bate, 

'Twas  the  custom,  whenever  a  pisant  was  got, 

To  haog  him  by  thrial  —  barrin'  sich  as  was  shot. 

There  was  trial  by  jury  goin'  on  by  daylight. 

And  the  martial  law  hangin*  the  lavins  by  night. 

It's  them  was  hard  times  for  an  honest  gosson : 

If  he  missed  in  the  judges  —  he'd  meet  a  dragoon  ; 

An*  whether  the  sodgers  or  judges  gev  sentence, 

The  divil  a  much  time  they  allowed  for  repentance. 

An'  it's  many's  the  fine  boy  was  then  on  his  keepin' 

Wid  small  share  iv  restin',  or  atin,'  or  sleepin', 

An'  because  they  loved  Erin,  an'  scorned  to  sell  it, 

A  prey  for  the  bloodhound,  a  mark  for  the  bullet  — 

Unsheltered  by  night,  and  unrested  by  day, 

With  the  heath  for  their  barrack,  revenge  for  their  pay ; 

An'  the  bravest  an'  hardiest  boy  iv  them  all 

Was  Shamus  O'Brien,  from  the  town  iv  Glingall. 

His  limbs  were  well  set,  an'  his  body  was  light, 

An'  the  keen-fanged  hound  had  not  teeth  half  so  white; 

I>iit  his  face  was  as  pale  as  the  face  of  the  dead. 

And  his  cheek  never  warmed  with  the  blush  of  the  red ; 

An'  for  all  that  he  wasn't  an  ugly  young  bye. 

For  the  divil  himself  couldn't  blaze  with  his  eye 

So  droll  an'  so  wicked,  so  dark  and  so  bright. 

Like  a  fire-flash  that  crosses  the  depth  of  the  night! 

An'  he  was  the  best  mower  that  ever  has  been, 

An'  the  illigantest  hurler  that  ever  was  seen. 

An'  his  dancin'  was  sich  that  the  men  used  to  stare, 

An'  the  women  turn  crazy,  he  done  it  so  quare  ; 

An'  by  gorra,  the  whole  world  gev  it  into  him  there. 

An'  it's  he  was  the  boy  that  was  hard  to  be  caught, 

An'  it's  often  he  run,  an'  it's  often  he  fought, 


24  ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS. 

All'  it's  many  the  one  can  remember  right  well 

The  quare  things  he  done ;  an'  it's  often  I  heerd  tell 

How  he  lathered  the  yeomen,  himself  agin  four, 

An'  stretched  the  two  strongest  on  old  Galtimore. 

But  the  fox  must  sleep  sometimes,  the  wild  deer  must  rest, 

An'  treachery  prey  on  the  blood  iv  the  best ; 

Afther  many  a  brave  action  of  power  and  pride, 

An'  many  a  hard  night  on  the  mountain's  bleak  side, 

An'  a  thousand  great  dangers  and  toils  overpast, 

In  the  darkness  of  night  he  was  taken  at  last. 

Now,  Shamus,  look  back  on  the  beautiful  moon. 

For  the  door  of  the  prison  must  close  on  you  soon, 

An'  take  your  last  look  at  her  dim  lovely  light. 

That  falls  on  the  mountain  and  valley  this  night ; 

One  look  at  the  village,  one  look  at  the  flood, 

An'  one  at  the  sheltering,  far-distant  wood  ; 

Farewell  to  the  forest,  farewell  to  the  hill, 

An'  farewell  to  the  friends  that  will  think  of  you  still ; 

Farewell  to  the  pathern,  the  hurlin'  an'  wake. 

An'  farewell  to  the  girl  that  would  die  for  your  sake. 

An'  twelve  sodgers  brought  hi  in  to  Maryborough  jail. 

An',  the  turnkey  resaved  him,  refusin'  all  bail ; 

The  fleet  limbs  wor  chained,  and  the  sthrong   hands  woi 

bound, 
A'n  he  laid  down  his  length  on  the  cowld  prison  ground. 
An'  the  dreams  of  his  childhood  kem  over  him  there 
As  gentle  an'  soft  as  the  sweet  summer  air ; 
An'  happy  remembrances  crowding  on  ever, 
As  fast  as  the  foam-flakes  dhrift  down  on  the  river. 
Bringing  fresh  to  his  heart  merry  days  long  gone  by, 
Till  the  tears  gathered  heavy  and  thick  in  his  eye. 
But  the  tears  didn't  fall,  for  the  pride  of  his  heart 
Would  not  suffer  one  drop  down  his  pale  cheek  to  start ; 
An'  he  sprang  to  his  feet  in  the  dark  prison  cave, 
An'  he  swore  with  the  fierceness  that  misery  gave. 
By  the  hopes  of  the  good,  an'  the  cause  of  the  brave. 
That  when  he  was  mouldering  in  the  cold  grave 


ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS.  25 

His  enemies  never  should  have  it  to  boast 
His  scorn  of  their  vengeance  one  moment  was  lost ; 
His  bosom  might  bleed,  but  his  cheek  should  be  dliry, 
For,  undaunted  he  lived,  and  undaunted  he'd  die. 

Well,  as  soon  as  a  few  weeks  was  over  and  gone. 

The  terrible  day  iv  the  thrial  kem  on. 

There  was  sich  a  crowd  there  was  scarce  room  to  stand, 

An'  sodgers  on  guard,  an'  dhragoons  sword-in-hand  ; 

An'  the  court-house  so  full  that  the  people  were  bothered, 

An'  attorneys  and  criers  on  the  point  iv  bein'  smothered  ; 

An'  counsellors  almost  gev  over  for  dead. 

An'  the  jury  sittin'  up  in  their  box  overhead  ; 

An'  the  judge  settled  out  so  detarmined  an'  big. 

With  his  gown  on  his  back,  and  an  illegant  new  wig; 

An'  silence  was  called,  an'  the  minute  it  was  said 

The  court  was  as  still  as  the  heart  of  the  dead, 

An'  they  heard  but  the  openin'  of  one  prison  lock. 

An'  Shamus  O'Brien  kem  into  the  dock. 

For  one  minute  he  turned  his  eye  round  on  the  throng, 

An'  he  looked  at  the  bars,  so  firm  and  so  strong, 

An'  he  saw  that  he  had  not  a  hope  nor  a  friend, 

A  chance  to  escape,  nor  a  word  to  defend  : 

An'  he  folded  his  arms  as  he  stood  there  alone, 

As  calm  and  as  cold  as  a  statue  of  stone  ; 

And  they  read  a  big  writin',  a  yard  long  at  laste, 

An'  Jim  didn't  understand  it  nor  mind  it  a  taste, 

An'  the  judge  took  a  big  pinch  iv  snufl',  and  he  says, 

''  Are  you  guilty  or  not,  Jim  O'Brien,  av  you  plaze?  " 

An'  all  held  their  breath  in  the  silence  of  dhread, 
An'  Shamus  O'Brien  made  answer  and  said  : 
*'  My  lord,  if  you  ask  me,  if  in  my  Hfe-time 
I  thought  any  treason,  or  did  any  crime 
That  should  call  to  my  cheek,  as  I  stand  alone  here. 
The  hot  blush  of  shame,  or  the  coldness  of  fear. 
Though  I  stood  by  the  grave  to  receive  my  death-blow 
Before  God  and  the  world  I  would  answer  you,  no ! 


26  ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS. 

But  if  you  would  ask  me,  as  I  think  it  like, 

If  in  the  rebellion  I  carried  a  pike, 

An'  fought  for  ould  Ireland  from  the  first  to  the  close. 

An'  shed  the  heart's  blood  of  her  bitterest  foes, 

I  answer  you,  yes  ;  and  I  tell  you  again. 

Though  I  stand  here  to  perish,  it's  my  glory  that  then 

In  her  cause  I  was  willing  my  veins  should  run  dhry. 

An'  that  now  for  her  sake  I  am  ready  to  die." 

Then  the  silence  was  great,  and  the  jury  smiled  bright, 

An'  the  judge  wasn't  sorry  the  job  was  made  light ; 

By  my  sowl,  it's  himself  was  the  crabbed  ould  chap ! 

In  a  twinklin*  he  pulled  on  his  ugly  black  cap. 

Then  Shamus's  mother  in  the  crowd  standin'  by, 

Called  out  to  the  judge  with  a  pitiful  cry  : 

*'  O  judge  !  darlin',  don't.  Oh,  don't  say  the  word  ! 

The  crathur  is  young,  have  mercy,  my  lord  ; 

He  was  foolish,  he  didn't  know  what  he  was  doin' ; 

You  don't  know  him,  my  lord,  —  Oh,  don't  give  him  to  ruin! 

He's  the  kindliest  crathur,  the  tendherest  hearted ; 

Don't  part  us  forever,  we  that's  so  long  parted. 

Judge,  mavourneen,  forgive  him,  forgive  him,  my  lord. 

An'  God  will  forgive  you  —  Oh,  don't  say  the  word  !  " 

That  was  the  first  minute  that  O'Brien  was  shaken. 

When  he  saw  that  he  was  not  quite  forgot  or  forsaken  ; 

An'  down  his  pale  cheeks,  at  the  word  of  his  mother, 

The  big  tears  wor  runnin'  fast,  one  afther  th'  other ; 

An'  two  or  three  times  he  endeavored  to  spake, 

But  the  sthrong,  manly  voice  used  to  falther  and  break ; 

But  at  last,  by  the  strength  of  his  high-mounting  pride. 

He  conquered  and  masthered  his  grid  's  swelling  tide, 

''  An',"  says  he,   "  mother,  darlin',  don't  break  your  pool 

heart. 
For,  sooner  or  later,  the  dearest  must  part ; 
An'  God  knows  it's  betther  than  wandering  in  fear 
On  the  bleak,  trackless  mountain,  among  the  wild  deer. 
To  h'e  in  the  grave,  where  the  head,  heart,  and  breast. 
From  thought,  labor,  and  sorrow,  forever  shall  rest. 


ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS.  27 

Then,  mother,  my  daiiin',  don't  cry  any  more. 
Don't  make  me  seem  broken,  in  this,  my  last  hour; 
For  I  wish,  when  my  head's  lyin'  undher  the  raven, 
No  thrue  man  can  say  that  I  died  like  a  craven  !  " 
Then  towards  the  judge  Shamus  bent  down  his  head. 
An'  that  minute  the  solemn  death-sentince  was  said. 

The  mornin'  was  bright,  an'  the  mists  rose  on  high, 

An'  the  lark  whistled  merrily  in  the  clear  sky  ; 

But  why  are  the  men  standin'  idle  so  late? 

An'  why  do  the  crowds  gather  fast  in  the  street? 

What  come  they  to  talk  of  ?   what  come  they  to  see? 

An'  why  does  the  long  rope  hang  from  the  cross-tree? 

O,  Shamus  O'Brien  !  pray  fervent  and  fast. 

May  the  saint's  take  your  soul,  for  this  day  is  your  last ; 

Pray  fast  an'  pray  sthrong,  for  the  moment  is  nigh. 

When,  sthrong,  proud,  an'  great  as  you  are,  you  must  die. 

An'  fasther  an'  fasther,  the  crowd  gathered  there, 

Boys,  horses,  and  gingerbread,  just  like  a  fair ; 

An'  whiskey  was  sellin'  an'  cussamuck  too. 

An'  ould  men  and  young  women  enjoying  the  view. 

An'  ould  Tim  Mulvany,  he  med  the  remark, 

There  wasn't  sich  a  sight  since  the  time  of  Noah's  ark, 

An'  be  gorry  'twas  thrue  for  him,  for  divil  sich  a  scruge, 

Sich  divarsion  and  crowds,  was  known  since  the  deluge. 

For  thousands  were  gathered  there,  if  there  was  one, 

Waitin'  till  such  time  as  the  hangin'  'id  come  on. 

At  last  they  threw  open  the  big  prison-gate. 

An'  out  came  the  sherifls  and  sodgers  in  state. 

An'  a  cart  in  the  middle,  an'  Shamus  was  in  it, 

Not  paler,  but  prouder  than  ever,  that  minute. 

An'  as  soon  as  the  people  saw  Shamus  O'Brien, 

Wid  prayin'  and  blessin',  and  all  the  girls  cryin', 

A  wild  vvailin'  sound  kem  on  by  degrees, 

Like  the  sound  of  the  lonesome  wind  blowin'  through  trees 


28  ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS. 

On,  on  to  the  gallows  the  sheriffs  are  gone, 
An'  the  cart  an'  the  sodgers  go  steadily  on ; 
An'  at  every  side  swellin'  around  of  the  cart, 
A  wild  sorrowful  sound,  that  id  open  your  heart. 
Now  under  the  gallows  the  cart  takes  its  stand. 
An'  the  hangman  gets  up  with  the  rope  in  his  hand-, 
An'  the  priest,  havin'  blest  him,  goes  down  on  the  ground. 
An'  Shamus  O'Brien  throws  one  last  look  round. 
Then  the  hangman  dhrew  near,  an'  the  people  grew  still, 
Young  faces  turned  sickly,  and  warm  hearts  turn  chill ; 
An'  the  rope  bein'  ready,  his  neck  was  made  bare, 
For  the  gripe  iv  the  life-strangling  cord  to  prepare ; 
An'  the  good  priest  has  left  him,  havin'  said  his  last  prayer. 
But  the  good  priest  done  more,  for  his  hands  he  unbound, 
And  with  one  daring  spring  Jim  has  leaped  on  the  ground; 
Bang!  bang!  goes  the  carbines,  and  clash  goes  the  sabres! 
He's   not  down  !    he's  alive  still !    now  stand  to  him  neigh- 
bors ! 
Through  the  smoke  and  the  horses  he's  into  the  crowd,  — 
By  the  heavens,  he's  free  !  —  than  thunder  more  loud. 
By  one  shout  from  the  people  the  heavens  were  shaken  — 
One  shout  that  the  dead  of  the  world  might  awaken. 
The  sodgers  ran  this  way,  the  sheriffs  ran  that, 
An'  Father  Malone  lost  his  new  Sunday  hat ; 
To-night  he'll  be  sleepin'  in  Aherloe  glin. 
An'  the  divil's  in  the  dice  if  you  catch  him  ag'in. 
Your  swords  they  may  glitter,  your  carbines  go  bang, 
But  if  you  want  hangin',  it's  yourself  you  must  hang. 

He  has  mounted  his  horse,  and  soon  he  will  be 
In  America,  darlint,  the  land  of  the  free. 

J.  S.  Lefann. 


I 


ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS.  29 


THE  MARCH   OF  MIND. 

"Look  down,  immortal  Homer,  from  the  skies, 
And  view  another  Greece  in  glory  rise." 

Wrapped  in  the  mantle  of  imagination  the  traveller  stands, 
in  gloomy  meditation,  amid  the  ruins  of  ancient  Greece.  He 
looks  down  the  tempestuous  tide  of  time  and  views  the 
wrecks  of  ages  and  of  empires.  He  stands,  with  indescrib- 
able emotions,  upon  the  crumbling  fragments  of  grandeur 
where  the  hall  of  wisdom  once  stood,  and  the  thunders  of 
eloquence  were  heard.  There,  arose  the  sun  of  science  on 
Athens'  lofty  towers  ;  and  there,  the  sidereal  orbs  of  learn- 
ing illuminated  the  world. 

It  was  in  Greece  that  the  human  mind  emerged  from  the 
night  of  mental  darkness,  and  severed  the  galling  chain  of 
tyrannical  ignorance.  Liberty  is  the  daughter  of  light ;  she 
came  forth  in  all  her  glory  in  the  gardens  of  Greece.  She 
flourished,  and  mankind  stood  astonished  at  the  sublimity  of 
her  career.  But  where  now  is  the  glory  of  Greece?  Where 
now  is  the  land  of  science  and  of  song?  Where  now  are  her 
brave  warriors ;  her  illustrious  statesmen ;  her  immortal 
poets?  They  have  gone  down  the  rapid  tide  of  time,  and 
have  ceased  to  exist  but  on  the  scroll  of  fame.  The  lamp  of 
learning  has  been  extinguished,  and  mental  darkness  rests 
upon  the  bosom  of  her  land.  Gothic  ignorance  now  dwells 
upon  the  ruins  of  Oriental  greatness. 

In  the  march  of  mind,  Rome  rose  on  the  ruins  of  Greece, 
to  wave  her  sceptre  over  the  subjugated  w^orld.  There  Virgil 
strung  his  lyre  to  sing  Eneas'  fame ;  and  there,  Cicero 
shook  the  forum  with  the  thunders  of  his  eloquence,  and 
struck  terror  to  the  hearts  of  tyrants.  Rome,  then,  was  the 
mistress  of  the  world,  and  on  her  walls  waved  the  flags  of 
all  nations.  The  mighty  Hannibal  lifted  his  arm  against 
her,  but  she  crushed  it ;  and  Carthage,  so  long  victorious, 
fell  before  her. 

Caesar  then  lived;  his  path  was  conquest,  and    dreadfi  I 


so  ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS. 

was  the  fate  of  that  warrior  who  dared  the  vengeance  of  his 
arm.  But  wliere  now  is  Caesar?  —  and  where  is  Cicero? 
Alas,  they  have  been  murdered  !  And  where  now  is  mighty 
Rome?  She  has  been  thrown  over  the  precipice  of  faction 
and  lost  in  the  whirlpool  of  anarchy.  A  barbarian  torrent 
has  overrun  the  blooming  gardens  of  Italy  ;  the  Goth  and 
the  Vandal  have  prostrated  her  glory  forever.  The  brilliant 
sun  of  science,  that  rose  on  the  gardens  of  Greece,  was 
destined  to  shine  on  the  ruins  of  Rome,  and  then  to  go  down 
in  the  night  of  time  to  arise  in  another  hemisphere. 

In  the  march  of  mind,  France,  plunging  into  the  vortex  of 
a  bloody  revolution,  arrests  the  attention.  Napoleon  rose, 
like  a  giant  from  his  slumber,  and  seated  himself  on  the 
throne  of  the  Bourbons.  He  pointed  the  thunder  of  his  artil- 
lery at  Italy,  and  she  fell  before  him.  He  levelled  his  lightning 
at  Spain  and  she  trembled.  He  sounded  the  knell  of  ven- 
geance on  the  plains  of  Austerlitz,  and  all  Europe  was  at  his 
feet.  He  was  greater  than  Caesar ;  he  was  greater  than 
Alexander.  But  where  now  is  the  French  Emperor? 
Where  now  is  Napoleon  Bonaparte?  He  has  fallen  from 
the  throne  of  the  Czars,  on  which  he  seated  himself  in  Mos- 
cow. The  tremendous  military  drama  has  closed,  and  the 
great  tragedian  has  left  the  stage  forever.  His  race  was 
short,  but  it  was  brilliant  —  like  the  bright  meteor  that  flames 
along  the  horizon  for  a  moment,  and  then  disappears.  The 
Lion  of  England  triumphed  over  the  fallen  Tiger  of  Corsica, 
but  his  fame  is  immortal. 

The  march  of  mind  is  now  advancing  on  the  shores  of 
America.  On  the  ruins  of  an  Indian  empire  a  great  repub- 
lic has  arisen  to  illuminate  the  world.  But  where  are  the 
aborigines  of  the  western  world?  A  pilgrim  bark,  deeply 
freighted  from  the  East,  came  darkening  on  their  shores. 
They  yielded  not  their  empire  tamely,  but  they  could  not 
stand  against  the  sons  of  light.  With  slow  and  solitary  . 
steps  they  took  up  their  mournful  march  to  the  W^est,  and 
yielded,  with  a  broken  heart,  their  native  hills  to  another 
race.     Before  the  victorious  march  of  mind,  they  have  been 


ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS.  31 

driven  from  their  native  haunts,  to  the  margin  of  the  great 
Pacific. 

The  great  flood  of  time  will  roll  on  until  the  aborigines  are 
swept  from  the  face  of  the  earth  forever.  Ere  long,  not  one 
lone  trace  of  them  will  remain,  save  the  mausoleum  of  the 
warrior,  and  the  page  on  which  his  exploits  are  recorded. 
The  last  child  of  the  forest  will  soon  climb  his  native  moun- 
tain to  view  the  setting  sun  of  Indian  glory.  And  there 
shall  he  bow  his  knee,  the  last  time,  to  the  sun  as  he  sinks 
behind  his  lonely  cottage,  and  worship  the  Great  Spirit  of 
the  waters,  and  the  genius  of  storm  and  darkness. 

Where  the  council-fires  blazed,  the  tall  temple,  dedicated 
to  God,  now  glitters  in  the  setting  sun  ;  and  the  river,  once 
unrippled  but  by  the  Indian  canoe,  is  now^  white  with  the 
sails  of  commerce.  Tiie  ploughshare  hath  passed  over  the 
bones  of  the  Red'  Man's  ancestors,  and  the  golden  harvest 
weaves  over  their  tombs.  The  march  of  mind  hath  been  to 
them  the  march  to  the  grave.  When  ages  shall  have  rolled 
away,  and  some  youth  shall  ask  his  aged  sire  where  the  wig- 
wam stood,  he  shall  point  to  some  flourishing  city  on  the 
banks  of  the  stream  where  once  the  Indian  hunter  bathed 
and  viewed  his  manly  limbs. 

By  wisdom,  industry,  and  valor,  the  Republic  of  the 
United  States  has  arisen  to  stand  against  the  world.  The 
forest  has  fallen  before  her  hardy  sons  ;  the  yelling  savage 
has  been  tamed,  and  the  Lion  of  England  driven  from  her 
shores.  Her  government  is  superior  to  any  in  the  world, 
and  her  country  suffers  not  in  comparison  with  any  on  the 
globe.  The  gardens  of  America  are  richly  diversified  with 
hills  and  dales,  mountains  and  valleys,  where  Spring  walks 
to  strew  the  earth  with  flowers,  romantic  and  beautifully 
sublime.  Here  are  beautiful  rivers,  smoothly  gliding  through 
green  meadows  or  pastoral  elegance,  where  the  shepherd 
hums  to  his  fair  one  the  song  of  liberty.  Here,  sparkling 
fountains  roll  down  the  flowery  mountain  side,  and  spread 
a  thousand  rainbows  to  the  setting  sun.  Here,  the  roar  of 
the  headlong  cataract  is  heard  dashing  its  foaming  billows 


32  ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS. 

down  the  rocks,  like  the  crash  of  clouds,  and  stunning  the 
ear  with  its  clamors  more  tremendous  than  the  roar  of  whirl- 
winds and  storm. 

It  w^as  in  these  scenes  of  poetr}^  and  romance  that  the  In- 
dian hunter  once  stood  and  gazed  at  his  image.  It  was  in 
these  scenes  that  he  heard  the  Great  Spirit  in  the  tempest, 
and  saw  him  in  the  clouds.  It  was  on  the  banks  of  the 
lonely  stream  that  he  bowed  down  in  adoration  before  the 
sinking  sun.  Alas!  it  was  here  that  he  read  his  doom  in 
the  evening  skies,  and  dropped  a  tear  upon  his  country's 
tomb.  But  the  council-fire  has  been  extinguished,  and  the 
war-dance  no  longer  echoes  along  the  hills.  In  those  beau- 
tiful scenes  of  poetry,  the  Indian  lover  no  longer  bows  down 
and  wooes  his  dusky  mate.  They  have  retired  before  the 
march  of  mind,  as  the  shades  of  night  before  the  brilliant 
luminary  of  day.  j 

Liberty  has  walked  forth  in  her  sky-blue  cap  to  charm 
mankind,  and  the  rays  of  science  and  philosophy  are  shed  ^ 
abroad  in  the  land.  The  day  is  rapidly  approaching  when 
the  glory  and  grandeur  of  Greece  will  be  revived  in  the  west- 
ern world  ;  when  America,  thrice  happy  America,  shall  be  , 
denominated  the  land  of  science  and  of  song  !  The  idea  is 
irresistible,  that  this  land  will  yet  be  illuminated  by  a  lamp 
of  learning  not  inferior  to  those  which  shone  on  Greece  and 
Rome.  Another  Homer  may  arise  in  the  West,  to  sing  the 
fame  of  his  country,  and  immortalize  himself;  and  our  his- 
tory may  ere  long  be  as  romantic  as  that  of  Greece  and 
Rome. 

There  is  a  tide  in  human  affairs,  and  there  is  a  tide  of  em- 
pire. It  flows  in  rivers  of  prosperity  until  it  is  full ;  but 
when  it  ebbs,  it  ebbs  forever.  It  would  seem  to  the  contem- 
plative mind,  as  if  there  is  a  certain  height  to  which  re- 
publics shall  aspire,  and  then  be  hurled  into  midnight  dark- 
ness. The  march  of  mind  seems  to  attain  a  certain  extent, 
and  then  return  again  to  barbarism.  The  sun  of  science  sets 
on  one  shore  to  rise  in  a  happier  clime.  But,  my  country, 
ere  thou  shalt  lay  prostrate  beneath  the  foot  of  tyranny  and 


ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS.  33 

Ignorance,  this   hand   shall    have   mouldered    into   dust,   and 

these  eyes,  which  have  seen  thy  glory,  closed  forever !     The 

warlike  sons  of  Indian  glory  sleep  in  their  country's  tomb, 

but  that  fate  is  not  decreed  to  those  who  now  tread  where 

the  wigwam  stood  and  the  council-fire  blazed.     American 

glory  has  but  just  dawned. 

John  Loffland. 


TO  A    SKYLARK. 


Hail  to  thee,  blithe  spirit, 

Bird  thou  never  wert, 
That  from  heaven  or  near  it 
Pourest  thy  full  heart 
In  profuse  strains  of  unpremeditated  art. 

Higher  still  and  higher 

From  the  earth  thou  springest, 
Like  a  cloud  of  fire 

The  blue  deep  tiiou  vvingest,  * 

And  singing  still  dost  soar,  and  soaring  ever  singest. 

The  pale,  purple  even 

Melts  around  thy  flight ; 
Like  a  star  of  heaven, 

In  the  broad  daylight 
Thou  art  unseen,  but  yet  I  hear  thy  shrill  delight. 

All  the  earth  and  air 

With  thy  voice  is  loud ; 
As,  when  night  is  bare. 

From  one  lonely  cloud 
The  moon  rains  out  her  beams,  and  heaven  is  overflowed 

What  thou  art  we  know  not ; 
What  is  most  like  thee.'^ 


34  ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS. 

From  rainbow  clouds  there  flow  not 
Drops  so  bright  to  see, 
As  from  thy  presence  showers  a  rain  of  melody. 

Like  a  poet  hidden 

In  the  light  of  tlioiight, 
Singing  hymns  unbidden, 

Till  the  world  is  wrought 
To  sympathy  with  hopes  and  fears  it  heeded  not 

Teach  us,  sprite  or  bird, 

What  sweet  thoughts  are  thine ; 
I  have  never  heard 
Praise  of  love  or  wine 
That  panted  forth  a  flood  of  rapture  so  divine. 

Chorus  hymeneal, 

Or  triumphal  chant, 
Matched  with  thine  would  be  all 

But  an  empty  vaunt, 

A  thing  wherein  we  feel  there  is  some  hidden  want 

♦ 

With  thy  clear,  keen  joyance 

Languor  cannot  be  ; 
Shadow  of  annoyance 

Never  came  near  thee : 
Thou  lovest ;  but  ne'er  knew  love's  sad  satiety. 

Waking  or  asleep, 

Thou  of  death  must  deem 
Things  more  true  and  deep 
Than  we  mortals  dream. 
Or  how  could  thy  notes  flow  in  such  a  crystal  stream: 

W^e  look  before  and  after. 

And  pine  for  what  is  not; 
Our  sincerest  laughter 

With  some  pain  is  fraught; 
Our  sweetest  songs  are  those  that  tell  the  saddest  though  I. 


ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS.  35 

Better  than  all  measures 

Of  delightful  sound, 
Better  than  all  treasures 

That  in  books  are  found, 
Thy  skill  to  poet  were,  thou  scorner  of  the  ground. 

Teach  me  half  the  gladness 

That  thy  brain  must  know, 
Such  harmonious  madness 
From  my  lips  would  flow, 
The  world  should  listen  then,  as  I  am  listening  now. 

Shelley. 


THE  DREAM  OF  CLARENCE, 

Brakenbury,     Why  looks  your  grace  so  heavily  to-day.? 

Clarence,     Oh,  I  have  pass'd  a  miserable  night, 
So  full  of  fearful  dreams,  of  ugly  sights, 
That,  as  I  am  a  Christian,  faithful  man, 
I  would  not  spend  another  such  a  night. 
Though  'twere  to  buy  a  world  of  happy  days ; 
So  full  of  dismal  terror  was  the  time. 

Brak.     What  was  your  dream,  my  lord?     I  pray  you  tell 
me. 

Cla7'.     Methought,  that  I  had  broken  from  the  Tower, 
And  was  embark'd  to  cross  to  Burgundy, 
And,  in  my  company,  my  brother  Gloster : 
Who  from  my  cabin  tempted  me  to  walk 
Upon  the  hatches,  thence  we  look'd  toward  England, 
And  cited  up  a  thousand  heavy  times. 
During  the  wars  of  York  and  Lancaster, 
That  had  befallen  us.     As  we  paced  along 
Upon  the  giddy  footing  of  the  hatches, 
Methought,  that  Gloster  stumbled;  and,  in  falling, 
Struck  me,  that  thought  to  stay  him,  overboard, 
Into  the  tumbliuGf  billows  of  the  main. 


36  ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS. 

0  Lord  !  methought,  what  pain  it  was  to  drown  I 
What  dreadful  noise  of  water  in  mine  ears ! 
What  sights  of  ugly  death  within  mine  eyes! 
Methought,  I  saw  a  thousand  fearful  wrecks ; 

A  thousand  men,  that  fishes  gnaw'd  upon ; 

Wedges  of  gold,  great  anchors,  heaps  of  pearl, 

Inestimable  stones,  unvalued  jewels, 

All  scattered  in  the  bottom  of  the  sea : 

Some  lay  in  dead  men's  skulls  :  and  in  those  holes 

Where  eyes  did  once  inhabit,  there  were  crept 

(As  'twere  in  scorn  of  eyes,)  reflecting  gems, 

That  woo'd  the  slimy  bottom  of  the  deep, 

And  mock'd  the  dead  bones  that  lay  scattered  by. 

Brak.     Had  you  such  leisure  in  the  time  of  deaths 
To  gaze  upon  the  secrets  of  the  deep  ? 

Clar.     Methought  I  had,  and  often  did  I  strive 
To  yield  the  ghost :  but  still  the  envious  flood 
Kept  in  my  soul,  and  would  not  let  it  forth 
To  seek  the  empty,  vast,  and  wand'ring  air ; 
But  smother'd  it  within  my  panting  bulk, 
Which  almost  burst  to  belch  it  in  the  sea. 

Brak,     Awaked  you  not  with  this  sore  agony? 

Clar,     O  no,  my  dream  was  lengthened  after  life ; 
Oh,  then  began  the  tempest  to  my  soul ! 

1  pass'd,  methought,  the  melancholy  flood, 
With  that  grim  ferryman  which  poets  write  of. 
Unto  the  kingdom  of  perpetual  night. 

The  first  that  there  did  greet  my  stranger  soul 
Was  my  great  father-in-law,  renowned  Warwick, 
Who  cried  aloud,  —  What  scourge  for  perjury 
Can  this  dark  monarchy  a^ord false  Clarence? 
And  so  he  vanish'd  :     Then  caine  wand'ring  by 
A  shadow  like  an  angel,  with  bright  hair, 
Dabbrd  in  blood  :  and  he  shriek'd  out  aloud,  — 
Clarence  is  come^  — false ^  fleeting^  perjured  Clarence^  ■ 
That  stabUd  me  in  the  field  of  Tezvksbiiry ;  — 
Seize  on  him^  furies^  take  him  to  your  torments  I -^ 


ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS.  3l 

With  that,  methought,  a  legion  of  foul  fiends 
Environ'd  me,  and  howl'd  in  mine  ears 
Such  hideous  cries,  that,  with  the  very  noise, 
I  trembling  waked,  and,  for  a  season  after. 
Could  not  believe  but  that  I  was  in  hell . 
Such  terrible  impression  made  my  dream. 

Brak,     No  marvel,  lord,  though  it  afl^righted  you  ; 
I  am  afraid,  methinks,  to  hear  you  tell  it. 

Clar.     Oh,  Brakenbury,  I  have  done  these  things,— 
That  now  give  evidence  against  my  soul,  — 
For  Edward's  sake,  and,  see,  how  he  requites  me;  — 

0  God  !   if  my  deep  prayers  cannot  appease  thee, 
But  thou  wilt  be  avenged  on  my  misdeeds, 

Yet  execute  thy  wrath  on  me  alone  ; 

Oh,  spare  my  guiltless  wife  and  my  poor  children; 

1  pray  thee,  gentle  keeper,  stay  by  me  ; 
My  soul  is  heavy,  and  I  fain  would  sleep. 

Shakespeare. 


SAM   WELLEIVS   VALENTINE, 

''I've  done  now,"  said  Sam,  with  slight  embarrassment; 
''  Fve  been  a  writin'." 

''  So  I  see,"  replied  Mr.  Weller.  "  Not  to  any  young 
'ooman,  I  hope,  Sammy." 

''  Why,  it's  no  use  a  sayin'  it  ain't,"  replied  Sam.  "  It's 
a  walentine." 

''A  what?"  exclaimed  Mr.  Weller,  apparently  horror- 
stricken  by  the  word. 

'^  A  walentine,"  replied  Sam. 

'^  Snmivel,  Samivel,"  said  Mr.  Weller,  in  reproachful 
accents,  ^'  I  cfidn't  think  you'd  ha'  done  it.  Arter  the  warn- 
in'  you've  had  o'  your  father's  wicious  propensities  ;  arter 
all  I've  said  to  you  upon  this  here  wery  subject;  arter  acti- 
wally  seein'  and  bein'  in  the  company  o'  your  own  mother- 


38  ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RFXITATIONS. 

in  law,  vich  I  should  ha'  thought  was  a  moral  lesson  as  no 
man  could  ever  ha'  forgotten  to  his  dyin'  day  !  I  didn't 
think  you'd  ha'  done  it,  Sammy,  I  didn't  think  you'd  ha' 
done  it."  These  reflections  were  too  much  for  the  good  old 
man  ;  he  raised  Sam's  tumbler  to  his  lips  and  drank  off*  the 
contents. 

"  Wot's  the  matter  now.?  "  said  Sam. 

''Nev'r  mind,  Sammy,"  replied  Mr.  Weller,  ''it'll  be  a 
wery  agonizin'  trial  to  me  at  my  time  o'  life,  but  I'm  pretty 
tough,  that's  vun  consolation,  as  the  wery  old  turkey  re- 
marked ven  the  farmer  said  he  vos  afeerd  he  should  be  ob- 
liged to  kill  him  for  the  London  market." 

''  Wot'll  be  a  trial?"  inquired  Sam. 

"To  see  you  married,  Sammy;  to  see  you  a  deluded 
wictim,  and  thinkin'  in  your  innocence  that  it's  all  wery 
capital,"  replied  Mr.  Weller.  "  It's  a  dreadful  trial  to  a 
father's  feelin's,  that  'ere,  Sammy." 

"Nonsense,"  said  Sam;  ''I  ain't  agoin' to  get  married, 
don't  you  fret  yourself  about  that.  I  know  you're  a  judge 
o'  these  things.  Order  in  your  pipe,  and  I'll  read  you  the 
letter,  —  there  !  " 

Sam  dipped  his  pen  into  the  ink  to  be  ready  for  any  coi . 
rections,  and  began  with  a  very  theatrical  air : 

"'Lovely  —  '" 

"  Stop,"  said  Mr.  Weller,  ringing  the  bell.  "  A  double 
glass  o'  the  inwariable,  my  dear." 

"Very  well,  sir,"  replied  the  girl,  who  with  great  quick- 
ness appeared,  vanished,  returned,  and  disappeared, 

"  They  seem  to  know  your  ways  here,"  observed  Sam. 

"  Yes,"  replied  his  father,  "I've  been  here  before,  in  my 
time.     Go  on,  Sammy." 

"  '  Lovely  creetur','"  repeated  Sam. 

"'Tain't  in  poetry,  is  it.?"  interposed  the  father. 

"No,  no,"  replied  Sam. 

"  Wery  glad  to  hear  it,"  said  Mr.  Weller.  "  Poetry  's  un- 
nat'ral.  No  man  ever  talked  in  poetry  'ccpt  a  beadle  on 
boxin'  day,  or  Warren's  blackin'  or  Rowland's  oil,  or  some 


ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS.  39 

o'  them  low  fellov\s.  Never  you  let  yoi.rself  down  to  talk 
poetry,  \ny  boy.      Begin  again,  Sammy." 

Mr.  Weller  resumed  his  pipe  with  critical  solemnity,  and 
Sam  once  more  commenced,  and  read  as  follows: 

*'  •  Lovely  creetur'  i  feel  myself  a  damned  — '  " 

''  That  ain't  proper,"  said  Mr.  Weller,  taking  his  pipe 
from   his  mouth. 

''  No  :  it  ain't  damned,"  observed  Sam,  holding  the  letter 
up  to  the  light,  ''  it's  '  shamed,'  there's  a  blot  there  ;  '  i  feel 
myself  ashamed.'  " 

"  Wery  good,"  said  Mr.  Weller.     "  Go  on." 

''  'Feel  myself  ashamed,  and  completely  cir — '  I  forget 
wot  this  'ere  word  is,"  said  Sam,  scratching  his  head  with 
the  pen,  in  vain  attempts  to  remember. 

'•  Why  don't  you  look  at  it,  then?  "  inquired  Mr.  Weller. 

'^  So  I  am  a  lookin'  at  it,"  replied  Sam,  ''but  there's  an- 
other blot :   here's  a  r,  and  a  /,  and  a  ^." 

"  Circumwented,  p'rhaps,"  suggested  Mr.  Weller. 

"  No,  it  ain't  that,"  said  Sam  :  "  '  circumscribed/  that's 
it." 

"  That  ain't  as  good  a  w^ord  as  circumwented,  Sammy," 
said  Mr.  Weller,  gravely. 

"Think  not.'^"  said  Sam. 

"Nothin'  like  it,"  replied  his  father. 

"  But  don't  you  think  it  means  more.^  "  inquired  Sam. 

"Veil,  p'rhaps  it's  a  more  tenderer  word,"  said  Mr.  Weller, 
after  a  few  moments'  reflection.     "  Go  on,  Sammy." 

"  '  Feel  myself  ashamed  and  completely  circumscribed  in 
X  dressin'  of  you,  for  3  ou  are  a  nice  gal  and  nothin'  but  it.'" 

"  That's  a  wery  pretty  sentiment,"  said  the  elder  Mr, 
Weller,  removing  his  pipe  to  make  way  for  the  remark. 

"  Yes,  I  think  it's  rayther  good,"  observed  Sam,  highly 
flattered. 

"  Wot  I  like  in  that  'ere  style  of  writin',"  said  the  elder 
Mr.  Weller,  "  is,  that  there  ain't  no  callin'  names  in  it,  —  no 
Wenuses,  nor  notliin'  o'  that  kind  ;  wot's  the  good  o'  callin' 
i  young  'ooman  a  Wenus  or  a  angel,  Sammy?" 


40  ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS. 

*'  Ah  !  what  indeed  ?  "  replied  Sam. 

'^  You  might  just  as  veil  call  her  a  griffin,  or  a  unicorn, 
or  a  king's  arms  at  once,  which  is  wery  veil  known  to  be  a 
col-lection  o'  fabulous  animals,"  added  Mr.  Weller. 

"Just  as  well,"  replied  Sam. 

"  Drive  on,  Sammy,"  said  Mr.  Weller. 

Sam  complied  with  the  request,  and  proceeded  as  follows  ; 
his  father  continuing  to  smoke  with  a  mixed  expression  of 
wisdom  and  complacency,  which  was  particularly  edifynig : 

"  '  Afore  i  see  you  i  thought  all  women  was  alike.*  " 

"  So  they  are,"  observed  the  elder  Mr.  Weller,  parentheti- 
cally. 

"  '  But  now,'  "  continued  Sam,  "  '  now  i  find  what  a  regu- 
lar soft-headed,  ink-red'lous  turnip  i  must  ha'  been,  for  there 
ain't  nobody  like  you,  though  /  like  you  better  than  nothin' 
at  all.'  I  thought  it  best  to  make  that  rayther  strong,"  said 
Sam,  looking  up. 

Mr.  Weller  nodded  approvingly,  and  Sam  resumed. 

"  '  So  i  take  the  privilidge  of  the  day,  Mary,  my  dear, — 
as  the  gen'lem'n  in  difficulties  did,  ven  he  valked  out  of  a 
Sunday,  —  to  tell  you  that  the  first  and  only  time  i  see  you 
your  likeness  wos  took  on  my  hart  in  much  quicker  time 
and  brighter  colors  than  ever  a  likeness  wos  taken  by  the 
profeel  macheen  (wich  p'rhaps  you  may  have  heerd  on 
Mary  my  dear),  altho'  it  does  finish  a  portrait  and  put  the 
frame  and  glass  on  complete  with  a  hook  at  the  end  to  hang 
it  up  by,  and  all  in  two  minutes  and  a  quarter.' " 

''  I  am  afeerd  that  werges  on  the  poetical,  Sammy,"  said 
Mr.  Weller,  dubiously. 

''  No  it  don't,"  replied  Sam,  reading  on  very  quickly  to 
avoid  contesting  the  point. 

"  '  Except  of  me  Mary  my  dear  as  your  walentine,  and 
think  over  what  I've  said.  My  dear  Mary  I  will  now  con- 
clude.'    That's  all,"  said  Sam. 

''That's  rayther  a  sudden  pull  up,  ain't  it,  Sammy.?"  in- 
quired Mr.  Weller. 

'^  Not  a  bit  on  it,"  said  Sam  :  she'll  vish  there  wos  more, 
and  that's  the  <^reat  art  o'  ietter-writin'." 


ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS.  41 

''  Well,"  said  Mr.  Weller,  "  there's  somethin'  in  that ;  and 
I  wish  your  mother-in-law  'ud  only  conduct  her  conwer- 
sation  on  the  same  (^en-teel  principle.  Ain't  you  agoin'  to 
sign  it?" 

"  That's  the  difficulty,"  said  Sam  ;  "  I  don't  know  what 
to  sign  it." 

"Sign  it  —  Veller,"  said  the  oldest  surviving  proprietor 
of  that  name. 

''  Won't  do,"  said  Sam„  "  Never  sign  a  walentine  with 
your  own  name." 

*'  Sign  it  Pickvick,  then,"  said  Mr.  Weller ;  ''  it's  a  wery 
good  name,  and  a  easy  one  to  spell." 

''The  wery  thing,"  said  Sam.  "I  could  end  with  a 
werse ;    what  do  you   think?" 

"-  I  don't  like  it,  Sam,"  rejoined  Mr.  Weller.  "  I  never 
know'd  a  respectable  coachman  as  wrote  poetry,  'cept  one 
as  made  an  affectin'  copy  o'  werses  the  night  afore  he  wos 
hung  for  a  highway  robbery,  and  he  wos  only  a  Cambervell 
man,  so  even  that's  no  rule." 

But  Sam  was  not  to  be  dissuaded  from  the  poetical  idea 
that  had  occurred  to  him,  so  he  signed  the  letter  — 

*'Your  love- sick 
Pickwick." 

Charles  Dickens. 


THE  BATTLE   OF  IVRY. 

Now  glory  to  the  Lord  of  Hosts,  from  whom  all  glories  are  ! 
And  glory  to  our  Sovereign  Liege,  King  Henry  of  Navarre  ! 
Now  let  there  be  the  merry  sound  of  music  and  the  dance, 
Through  thy  corn-fields  green,  and  sunny  vales,  O  pleasant 

land  of  France  ! 
And  thou,  Rochelle,  our  own  Rochelle,  proud  city  of  the 

waters, 
Again  let  lapture  light  the  eyes  of  all  thy  mourning  daugh 

ters  : 


42  ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS. 

As  thou  wert  constant  in  our  ills,  be  joyous  in  our  joy, 
F(3r  cold  and  stiff  and  still  are  they  who  wrought  thy  walls 
annoy. 

Hurrah  !  hurrah  !  a  single  field  hath  turned  the  chance  of 

war. 
Hurrah  !  hurrah  !  for  Ivry  and  King  Henry  of  Navarre  ! 
Oh,  how  our  hearts  were  beating,  when,  at  the  dawn  of  day^ 
We  saw  the  army  of  the  League  drawn  out  in  long  array ; 
With  all  its  priest-led  citizens,  and  all  its  rebel  peers,  , 

And    Appenzel's    stout    infantry,    and    Egmont*s    Flemish  1 

spears ! 
There  rode  the  brood  of  false  Lorraine,  the  curses  of  our 

land  ! 
And  dark  Mayenne  was   in  the  midst,  a  truncheon   in  his 

hand  ; 
And,  as  we  looked  on  them,  we  thought  of  Seine's  empurpled 

flood, 
And  good  Coligni's  hoary  hair  all  dabbled  w^ith  his  blood  ; 
And  we   cried  unto   the  living  God,  who  rules  the  fate  of 

war, 
To  fight  for  His  own  holy  Name,  and  Henry  of  Navarre. 

The  King  has  conie  to  marshal  us,  in  all  his  armor  drest. 
And   he   has  bound  a  snow-white  plume  upon  his  gallant 

crest. 
He  looked  upon  his  people,  and  a  tear  was  in  his  eye ; 
He  looked  upon  the  traitors,  and  his  glance  was  stern  and 

high. 
Right  graciously,  he  smiled   on  us,  as  rolled   from  wing  to 

wing, 
Down  all  our  line,  in  deafening  shout,  '^  God  save  our  lord, 

the  King  !  " 
''And  if  my  standard-bearer  fall,  —  as  fall  full  well  he  may, 
For  never  saw  I  promise  yet  of  such  a  bloody  fray,  — 
Press  where  ye  see  my  wdiite  plume  shine,  amid  the  ranks 

of  war. 
And  be  your  oriflamme,  to-day,  the  helmet  of  Navarre.*' 


ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS.  43 

Hurrah!   the  foes  are  moving!      Hark  to  the  mingled  din 
Of    fife,    and    steed,    and    trump,    and    drum,    and    roaring 

culver  in  ! 
The  fiery  Duke  is  pricking  fast  across  Saint  Andre's  plain, 
With  all  the  hireling  chivalry  of  Guelders  and  Almayne. 
Now,  hy  the  lips  of  those  ye  love,  fair  gentlemen  of  France, 
Charge  for   the  golden    lilies   now,  —  upon  them   with   the 

lance  ! 
A  thousand   spurs   are   striking  deep,  a  thousand  spears   in 

rest, 
A  thousand  knights  are  pressing  close  behind  the  snow-white 

crest. 
And  in  they  burst,  and  on  they  rushed,  while,  like  a  guiding 

star, 
\midst  the  thickest  carnage  blazed  the  helmet  of  Navarre. 

Now,   God    be    praised,   the   day   is    ours !     Mayenne    hath 

turned  his  rein, 
D'Aumale  hath    cried   for   quarter  —  the   Flemish    Count   is 

slain  : 
Their  ranks  are  breaking   like  thin  clouds  before  a  Biscay 

gale  ; 
The   field    is    heaped   with   bleeding   steeds,  and   flags,  and 

cloven  mail. 
And  then  we  thought  on  vengeance,  and  all  along  our  van, 
''  Remember  St.  Bartholomew^ !  "  was  passed  from   man  to 

man  ; 
But  out  spake  gentle  Henry,  then,  — ''  No  Frenchman  is  my 

foe  ; 
Down,  down  with  every  foreigner  !  but  let  your   brethren 

go." 
Oh,  was  there  ever  such  a  knight,  in  friendship  or  in  war, 
As  our  sovereign  lord,  King  Henry,  the  soldier  of  Navarre? 

Ho  !   maidens  of  Vienna  !      Ho  !   matrons  of  Lucerne  ! 
Weep,  weep  and   rend  your  hair  for  those  who   never  shall 
return  ! 


44  ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS. 

Ho  !   Philip,  send  for  charity  thy  Mexican  pistoles, 

That  Antwerp  inonks  may  sing  a  mass  for  thy  poor  spear- 
men's souls. 

Ho  !  gallant  nobles  of  the  League,  look  that  your  arms  be 
bright ! 

Ho  !  burghers  of  St.  Genevieve,  keep  watch  and  ward  to- 
night ! 

For  our  God  hath  crushed  the  tyrant,  our  God  hath  raised 
the  slave, 

And  mocked  the  counsel  of  the  wise  and  the  valor  of  the 
brave. 

Then  glory  to  His  holy  name,  from  whom  all  glories  are  ! 

And  glory  to  our  sovereign  lord,  King  Henry  of  Navarre ! 

T.  B.  Macaulay. 


ABOU  BEN  ADHEM. 

Abou  Ben  Adhem  —  may  his  tribe  increase  — 
Awoke  one  night  from  a  sweet  dream  of  peace, 
And  saw,  within  the  moonlight  in  his  room, 
Making  it  rich,  and  like  a  lily  In  bloom, 
An  angel,  writing  In  a  book  of  gold. 
Exceeding  peace  had  made  Ben  Adhem  bold, 
And  to  the  presence  in  the  room  he  said, 
''  What  writest  thou?  "     The  vision  raised  its  head. 
And,  with  a  look  made  all  of  sweet  accord, 
Answered,  "The  names  of  those  who  love  the  Lord." 
''  And  is  mine  one?  "  said  Abou.     "  Nay,  not  so/' 
Replied  the  angel.     Abou  spoke  more  low, 
But  cheerily  still ;   and  said,  -'  I  pray  thee,  then. 
Write  me  as  one  that  loves  his  fellow-men." 

The  angel  wrote  and  vanished.     The  next  night 
It  came  again,  with  a  great  wakening  light. 
And  showed  the  names  whom  love  of  God  had  blest; 
And  lo  !  Ben  Adhem's  name  led  all  the  rest. 

Leigh  Hunt. 


ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS.  45 


SPEECH  ON  THE  AMERICAN  WAR, 

I  CANNOT,  my  lords,  I  will  not,  join  in  congratulation 
on  misfortune  and  disgrace.  This,  my  lords,  is  a  perilous 
and  tremendous  moment.  It  is  not  a  time  for  adulation. 
The  smoothness  of  flattery  cannot  save  us  in  this  rugged 
and  awful  crisis.  It  is  now  necessary  to  instruct  the  throne 
in  the  language  of  truth.  We  must,  if  possible,  dispel  the 
illusion  and  the  darkness  which  envelop  it,  and  display,  in 
its  full  danger  and  genuine  colors,  the  ruin  which  is  brought 
to  our  doors. 

Can  ministers  still  presume  to  expect  support  in  their 
infatuation }  Can  Parliament  be  so  dead  to  its  dignity  and 
duty,  as  to  give  their  support  to  measures  thus  obtruded 
and  forced  upon  them  !  Measures,  my  lords,  which  have 
reduced  this  late  flourishing  empire  to  ruin  and  contempt ! 
But  yesterday,  and  England  might  have  stood  against  the 
world  ;  now,  none  so  poor  as  to  do  her  reverence. 

The  people  whom  we  at  first  despised  as  rebels,  but 
whom  we  now  acknowledge  as  enemies,  are  abetted  against 
us  ;  supplied  with  ever}^  military  store,  their  interest  con- 
sulted and  their  ambassadors  entertained  by  our  inveterate 
enemy  !  —  and  ministers  do  not,  and  dare  not,  interpose  with 
dignity  or  eflfect.  The  desperate  state  of  our  army  abroad  is 
in  part  known.  No  man  more  highly  esteems  and  honors 
the  English  troops  than  I  do  ;  I  know  their  virtues  and  their 
valor ;  I  know  they  can  achieve  anything  but  impossibil- 
ities ;  and  I  know  that  the  conquest  of  English  America  is 
an  imfossibility. 

You  cannot,  my  lords,  you  cannot  conquer  America. 
What  is  your  present  situation  there?  We  do  not  know  the 
worst ;  but  we  know  that  in  three  campaigns  we  have  done 
nothing,  and  suffered  much.  You  may  swell  every  expense, 
accumulate  every  assistance,  and  extend  your  traffic  to  the 
shambles  of  every  German  despot :    your  attempts  will  be 


4G  ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS. 

forever  vain  and  impotent  —  doubly  so,  indeed,  froni  this 
mercenary  aid  on  which  you  rely  ;  for  it  irritates,  to  an 
incurable  resentment,  the  minds  of  your  adversaries,  to  over- 
run them  with  the  mercenary  sons  of  rapine  and  plunder, 
devoting  them  and  their  possessions  to  the  rapacity  of  hire- 
ling cruelty.  If  I  were  an  American,  as  I  am  an  English- 
man, while  a  foreign  troop  was  landed  in  my  country,  J 
never  would  lay  down  my  arms  —  never ^  never ^  never! 

But,  my  lords,  who  is  the  man  that,  in  addition  to  the 
disgrace  and  mischiefs  of  the  war,  has  dared  to  authorize 
an,]  associate  to  our  arms  the  tomahawk  and  scalp Ing-knijc 
of  the  savage?  —  to  call  into  civilized  alliance  the  wild  and 
inhuman  inhabitants  of  the  woods  .f*  —  to  delegate  to  the 
merciless  Indian  the  defence  of  disputed  riglits,  and  to  wage 
the  horrors  of  his  barbarous  war  against  our  brethren.'*  My 
lords,  these  enormities  cry  aloud  for  redress  and  punish- 
ment. 

But,  my  lords,  this  barbarous  measure  has  been  de-  < 
fended,  not  only  on  the  principles  of  policy  and  necessity, 
but  also  on  those  of  morality  ;  *'  for  it  is  perfectly  allow- 
able,'* says  Lord  Suflblk,  *'  to  use  all  the  means  which  God 
and  Nature  have  put  into  our  hands."  I  am  astonished,  I 
am  shocked,  to  hear  such  principles  confessed  ;  to  hear  them 
avowed  in  this  House,  or  in  this  country  ! 

My  lords,  I  did  not  intend  to  encroach  so  much  upon 
your  attention,  but  I  cannot  repress  my  indignation.  I  feel 
myself  impelled  to  speak.  My  lords,  we  are  called  upon  as 
members  of  this  House,  as  men,  as  Christian  men,  to  ])ro- 
test  against  such  horrible  barbarity.  "  That  God  and  Nature 
have  put  into  our  hands !  "  What  ideas  of  God  and  Nature 
that  noble  lord  may  entertain,  I  know  not ;  but  I  know  thnt 
such  detestable  principles  are  equally  abhorrent  to  religion 
and  humanity. 

What!  to  attribute  the  sacred  sanction  of  God  and  Nature 
to  the  massacres  of  the  Indian  scalping-knife !  —  to  the 
cannibal  savage,  torturing,  murdering,  devouring,  drinking 
the    blood    of  his    manirled    victims!      Such    notio.is    shock 


ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS. 


47 


every  precept  of  morality,  every  feeling  of  humanity,  every 
sentiment  of  honor.  These  abominable  principles,  and  this 
more  abominable  avowal  of  them,  demand  the  most  decisive 
indignation. 

I  call  upon  that  right  reverend,  and  this  most  learned 
bench,  to  vindicate  the  religion  of  their  God,  to  support  the 
justice  of  their  country.  I  call  upon  the  bishops  to  interpose 
the  unsullied  sanctity  of  their  lawn  ;  —  upon  the  judges  to 
interpose  the  purity  of  their  ermine,  to  save  us  from  this  pol- 
lution. I  call  upon  the  honor  of  your  lordships  to  reverence 
the  dignity  of  your  ancestors,  and  maintain  your  own.  I  call 
upon  the  spirit  and  humanity  of  my  country  to  vindicate  the 

national  character. 

Lord  Chatham. 


RICHELIEU'S    VINDICATION. 


My  liege,  your  anger  can  recall  your  trust, 

Annul  my  office,  spoil  me  of  my  lands. 

Rifle  my  coffers  ;  but  my  name,  my  deeds, 

Are  royal  in  a  land  beyond  your  sceptre. 

Pass  sentence  on  me,  if  you  will ;  —  from  kings 

Lo,  I  appeal  to  Time  !      Be  just,  my  liege. 

I  found  your  kingdom  rent  with  heresies, 

And  bristling  with  rebellion  ;  —  lawless  nobles 

And  breadless  serfs  ;   England  fomenting  discord  ; 

Austria,  her  clutch  on  your  dominion  ;  Spain 

Forging  the  prodigal  gold  of  either  Ind 

To  armed  thunderbolts.     The  Arts  lay  dead  ; 

Trade  rotted  in  your  marts;  your  armies  mutinoj^- 

Your  treasury  bankrupt.     Would  you  now  re\oi.j 

Your  trust,  so  be  it !    and  I  leave  you,  sole, 

Supremest  Monarch  of  the  mightiest  realm, 

From  Ganges  to  the  icebergs.)   Look  without,  — 

No  foe  not  humbled  !     Look  within,  —  the  Arts 


48  ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS. 

Qiiit,  for  our  schools,  their  old  Hesperides, 

The  golden  Ital}^ !   while  throughout  the  veins 

Of  your  vast  empire  flows  in  strengthening  tides 

Trade,  the  calm  health  of  Nations!    '  Sire,  I  know 

That  men  have  called  me  cruel ;  — 

I  am  not ;  —  I  am  just  I    I  found  France  rent  asunder, 

The  rich  men  despots,  and  the  poor  banditti  ; 

Sloth  in  the  mart,  and  schism  within  the  temple  ; 

Brawls  festering  to  rebellion  ;  and  weak  laws 

Rotting  away  with  rust  in  antique  sheaths. 

I  have  re-created  France  ;  and,  from  the  ashes 

Of  the  old  feudal  and  decrepit  carcass. 

Civilization,  on  her  luminous  wings. 

Soars,  phocnix-like,  to  Jove  !     What  was  my  art? 

Genius,  some  say  ;  —  some,  Fortune  ;  Witchcraft,  some. 

Not  so  ;  —  my  art  was  Justice.    / 

BULWER. 


THE  IRISH-DISTURBANCE  BILL. 

I  DO  not  rise  to  fawn  or  cringe  to  this  house.  I  do  not 
rioe  to  supplicate  you  to  be  merciful  towards  the  nation  to 
w^iich  I  belong,  —  towards  a  nation  which,  though  subject 
to  England,  yet  is  distinct  from  it.  It  is  a  distinct  nation  ; 
it  has  been  treated  as  such  by  this  country,  as  may  be  proved 
by  history,  and  by  seven  hundred  years  of  tyranny. 

I  call  upon  this  house,  as  you  value  the  liberty  of  Eng< 
land,  not  to  allow  the  present  nefarious  bill  to  pass.  In  il 
are  involved  the  liberties  of  England,  the  liberty  of  the  press, 
and  of  every  other  institution  dear  to  Englishmen. 

Against  the  bill  I  protest  in  the  name  of  this  Irish 
people,  and  in  the  face  of  Heaven.  I  treat  with  scorn  the 
piiny  and  pitiful  assertions  that  grievances  are  not  to  be 
c<  mplained  of,  that  our  redress  is  not  to  be  agitated  I  for, 
\v  such  cases,  remonstrances  cannot  be  too  strong,  agitation 


ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS.  49 

cannot  be  too  violent,  to  show  to  the  world  with  what  in- 
justice our  fair  claims  are  met,  and  under  what  tyranny  the 
people  suffer. 

There  are  two  frightful  clauses  in  this  bill.  The  one 
which  does  away  with  trial  by  jury,  and  which  I  have  called 
upon  you  to  baptize  :  you  call  it  a  court-martial,  —  a  mere 
nickname ;  I  stigmatize  it  as  a  revolutionary  tribunal. 
What,  in  the  name  of  Heaven,  is  it,  if  it  is  not  a  revolution- 
ary tribunal? 

It  annihilates  the  trial  by  jury  ;    it  drives  the  judge  from 

lis  bench,  —  the  man  who,  from  experience,  could  weigh 

be  nice  and  delicate   points  of  a  case  ;   who  could  discrimi- 

Inate  between  the  straightforward  testimony  and  the  suborned 

fevidence  ;  who  could  see,  plainly  and  readily,  the  justice  or 

[injustice  of  the  accusation. 

It  turns  out  this  man  who  is  free,  unshackled,  unpreju- 

jdiced  ;    who  has  no  previous  opinions  to  control  the  clear 

[exercise  of  his  duty.    You  do  away  with  that  which  is  more 

r^cred   than   the   throne   itself,  —  that   for  which   your  king 

reigns,  your  lords  deliberate,  your  commons  assemble. 

If  ever  I  doubted  before  of  the  success  of  our  agitation 
^for  repeal,  this  bill,  this  infiunous  bill,  the  way  in  which  it 
has  been  received  by  the  house,  the  manner  in  which  its 
Opponents  have  been  treated,  the  personalities  to  which  they 
Save  been  subjected,  the  yells  with  which  one  of  them  has 
iis  night  been  greeted,  —  all  these  things  dissipate  my 
iubts,  and  tell  me  of  its  complete  and  early  triumph. 
*"  Do  you  think  those  yells  will  be  forgotten .?  Do  you  sup- 
pose their  echo  will  not  reach  the' plains  of  my  injur\6d  and 
insulted  country;  that  they  will  not  be  whispered  in  her 
green  valleys,  and  heard  from  her  lofty  hills. ^ 

Oh,  they  will  be  heard  there  !  Yes ;  and  they  will  not 
be  forgotten.  The  youth  of  Ireland  will  bound  with  indig- 
nation:  they  will  say,  ''We  are  eight  millions;  and  you 
treat  us  thus,  as  though  we  were  no  more  to  your  country 
than  the  isle  of  Guernsey  or  of  Jersey  !  " 

1    have    done    my  duty ;     I    stand    acquiitcd    to    my  con- 
4 


50  ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS. 

science  and  my  country ;  I  have  opposed  this  measure 
throughout ;  and  I  now  protest  against  it  as  harsh,  oppres- 
sive, uncalled  for,  unjust,  —  as  establishing  an  infamous 
precedent  by  retaliating  crime  against  crime,  —  as  tyrannous, 
cruelly  and  vindictively  tyrannous. 

Daniel  O'Connell 


SCENE  FROM  THE  RIVALS, 

Captain  Absolute,  Sir,  I  am  delighted  to  see  you  here, 
and  looking  so  well !  Your  sudden  arrival  at  Bath  made 
me  apprehensive  for  your  health. 

Sir  Anthony,  Very  apprehensive,  I  dare  say,  Jack. 
What,  you  are  recruiting  here,  hey? 

Caft.  A,     Yes,  sir ;   I  am  on  duty. 

Sir  A.  Well,  Jack,  I  am  glad  to  see  you,  though  I  did 
not  expect  it ;  for  I  was  going  to  write  to  you  on  a  little 
matter  of  business.  Jack,  I  have  been  considering  that  I  grow 
old  and  infirm,  and  shall  probably  not  trouble  you  long. 

Capt,  A.  Pardon  me,  sir,  I  never  saw  you  look  more 
strong  and  hearty ;  and  I  pray  fervently  that  you  may  con- 
tinue so. 

Sir,  A,  I  hope  your  prayers  may  be  heard,  with  all  my 
heart.  Well,  then.  Jack,  I  have  been  considering  that  I 
am  so  strong  and  hearty,  T  may  continue  to  plague  you  a 
longtime.  Now,  Jack,  I  am  sensible  that  the  income  of 
your  commission,  and  what  I  have  hitherto  allowed  you,  is 
but  a  small  pittance  for  a  lad  of  your  spirit. 

Capt.  A.     Sir,  you  are  very  good. 

Sir  A.  And  it  is  my  wish,  while  yet  I  live,  to  have 
my  boy  make  some  figure  in  the  world.  I  have  resolved, 
therefore,  to  fix  you  at  once  in  a  noble  independence. 

Capt.  A,       Sir,   your  kindness   overpowers   me.       Such ' 
generosity  makes  the  gratitude  of  reason  more  lively  than 
the  sensations  even  of  filial  aftection. 


ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    KECITATIONS.  51 

Sir  A.  I  am  glad  you  are  so  sensible  of  my  attention; 
and  you  shall  be  master  of  a  large  estate  in  a  few  weeks. 

Capt,  A,  Let  my  future  life,  sir,  speak  my  gratitude. 
I  cannot  express  the  sense  I  have  of  your  munificence.  Yet, 
sir,  I  presume  you  would  not  wish  me  to  to  quit  the  army. 

Sir  A,     Oh,  that  shall  be  as  your  wife  chooses. 

CapL  A.     My  wife,  sir  ! 

Sir  A,  Ay,  ay,  settle  that  between  you  —  settle  that 
between  you. 

Capt,  A,     A  wife,  sir,  did  you  say? 

Sir  A,  Ay,  a  wife  —  why,  did  not  I  mention  her  be- 
fore ? 

Capt.  A.     Not  a  word  of  her,  sir. 

Sir  A.  Upon  my  word,  I  mustn't  forget  her^  though ! 
Yes,  Jack,  the  independence  I  was  talking  of  is  by  a  mar- 
riage,—  the  fortune  is  saddled  with  a  wife  ;  but  I  suppose 
tliat  makes  no  difference? 

Capt.  A.     Sir,  sir,  you  amaze  me! 

Sir  A.  What's  the  matter?  Just  now  you  were  all 
gratitude  and  duty. 

Capt.  A.  I  was,  sir;  you  talked  to  me  of  independence 
and  a  fortune,  but  not  one  word  of  a  wife. 

Sir  A.  Why,  what  difference  does  that  make?  Sir,  if 
you  have  the  estate,  you  must  take  it  with  the  live  stock  on 
it,  as  it  stands. 

Capt.  A.  If  my  happiness  is  to  be  the  price,  I  must  beg 
leave  to  decline  the  purchase.     Pray,  sir,  who  is  the  lady  ? 

Sir  A.  What's  that  to  you,  sir  ?  Come,  give  me  your 
promise  to  love,  and  to  marry  her  directly. 

Capt.  A.  Sure,  sir,  that's  not  very  reasonable,  to  sum- 
mon my  affections  for  a  lady  I  know  nothing  of! 

Sir  A.  I  am  sure,  sir,  'tis  more  unreasonable  in  you  to 
object  to  a  lady  you  know  nothing  of. 

Capt.  A.  You  must  excuse  me,  sir,  if  I  tell  you,  once 
tor  all,  tliat  on  this  point  I  cannot  obey  you. 

Sir  A.  Hark  you,  Jack  !  I  have  heard  you  for  some  time 
with    patience;    1    have   been  cool  —  quite    cool;  but    take 


52  ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS. 

care  ;  you  know  I  am  compliance  itself,  when  I  am  not 
thwarted;  no  one  more  easily  led  —  when  I  have  my  own 
way  ;  but  don't  put  me  in  a  frenzy. 

Capt,  A.  Sir,  I  must  repeat  it;  in  this  I  cannot  obey 
you. 

Sir  A,  Now,  shoot  me,  if  ever  I  call  you  Jack  again 
while  I  live ! 

Capt,  A,     Nay,  sir,  but  hear  me. 

Sir  A,  Sir,  I  won't  hear  a  word  —  not  a  word  !  —  not 
one  word  !  So,  give  me  your  promise  by  a  nod  ;  and  I'll 
tell  you  what,  Jack, — I  mean,  you  dog,  —  if  you  don't  — 

Capt.  A,  What,  sir,  promise  to  link  myself  to  some  mass 
of  ugliness  ;   to  — 

Sir  A,  Sir,  the  lady  shall  be  as  ugly  as  I  choose ;  she 
shall  have  a  hump  on  each  shoulder ;  she  shall  be  as  crook- 
ed as  tl>e  crescent ;  her  one  eye  shall  roll  like  the  bull's  in 
Cox's  mu-se-um  ;  she  shall  have  a  skin  like  a  mummy,  and 
the  beard  of  a  Jew  ;  —  she  shall  be  all  this,  sir  !  yet  I'll  make 
you  ogle  her  all  day,  and  sit  up  all  night  to  write  sonnets  on 
her  beauty ! 

Capt,  A,     This  is  reason  and  moderation,  indeed ! 

Sir  A,  None  of  your  sneering,  puppy  I  —  no  grinning, 
jackanapes ! 

Capt,  A,  Indeed,  sir,  I  never  was  in  a  worse  humor  for 
mirth  in  my  life. 

Sir  A,  'Tis  false,  sir  !  I  know  you  are  laughing  in  your 
sleeve  :   I  know  you'll  grin  when  I  am  gone,  sir ! 

Capt,  A.     Sir,  I  hope  I  know  my  duty  better. 

Sir  A,  None  of  your  passion,  sir!  none  of  your  violence, 
if  you  please!     It  won't  do  with  me,  I  promise  you. 

Capt.  A.     Indeed,  sir,  I  never  was  cooler  in  my  life. 

Sir  A.  I  know  you  are  in  a  passion  in  your  heart;  I 
know  you  are,  you  hypocritical  young  dog !  But  it  won't 
do ! 

Capt.  A.     Nay,  sir,  upon  my  word  — 

Sir  A.  So,  you  will  fly  out?  Can't  you  be  cool,  like 
me.^     What  good  can  passion  do?     Passion  is  of  no  service^ 


ADVANDED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS.  59 

the  temple  of  religion,  rear  high  their  lofty  fronts ;  a  forest 
of  masts,  gay  with  varied  pennons,  rises  from  the  harbor; 
representatives  of  far-off  regions  make  it  their  resort ;  Sci- 
ence enlists  the  elements  of  earth  and  heaven  In  its  service ; 
Art,  awakening,  clothes  its  strength  with  beauty  ;  Civiliza 
tion  smiles;  Liberty  is  glad;  Humanity  rejoices;  Piety 
exults  ;  for  the  voice  of  Industry  and  Gladness  is  heard  on 
every  side. 

Working-men,  \yalk  worthy  of  your  vocation  !  You  have 
a  noble  escutcheon  ;  disgrace  it  not.  There  is  nothing  really 
mean  and  low  but  sin.  Stoop  not  from  j^our  lofty  throne  to 
detile  yourselves  by  contamination  with  intemperance,  licen- 
tiousness, or  any  form  of  evil.  Labor,  allied  with  virtue, 
may  look  up  to  Heaven  and  not  blush,  while  all  worldly 
dignities,  prostituted  to  vice,  will  leave  their  owner  without 
a  corner  of  the  universe  in  which  to  hide  his  shame.  You 
will  most  successfully  prove  the  honor  of  toil  by  illustrating 
in  your  own  persons  its  alliance  with  a  sober,  righteous,  and 
godly  life.  Be  ye  sure  of  this,  that  the  man  of  toil,  who 
works  in  a  spirit  of  obedient,  loving  homage  to  God,  docs 
no  less  than  cherubim  and  seraphim  in  their  loftiest  flights 

and  holiest  songs. 

Newman  Hall. 


T//E  BROOK, 


I  COME  from  haunts  of  coot  and  hern, 

I  make  a  sudden  sally. 
And  sparkle  out  among  the  fern, 

To  bicker  down  a  valley. 

By  thirty  hills  I  hurry  cjown, 
Or  slip  between  the  ridges ; 

By  twenty  thorps,  a  little  town, 
And  half  a  hundred  bridges. 


60  ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS. 

I  chatter  over  stony  ways, 
In  little  sharps  and  trebles, 

I  bubble  into  eddying  bays, 
I  bal)ble  on  the  pebbles. 

With  many  a  curve  my  banks  I  fret 
By  many  a  field  and  fallow. 

And  many  a  fairy  foreland  set 
With  willow-weed  and  mallow. 

I  chatter,  chatter,  as  I  flow 
To  join  the  brimming  river  ; 

For  men  may  come  and  men  may  go, 
But  I  go  on  forever. 

I  wind  about,  and  in  and  out. 
With  here  a  blossom  sailing, 

And  here  and  there  a  lusty  trout, 
And  here  and  there  a  grayling. 

And  here  and  there  a  foamy  ffake. 

Upon  me,  as  I  travel, 
With  many  a  silvery  water-break 

Above  the  golden  gravel. 

I  steal  by  lawns  and  grassy  plots, 
I  slide  by  hazel  covers, 

I  move  the  sweet  foget-me-nots 
That  grow  for  happy  lovers. 

I  slip,  I  slide,  I  gloom,  I  glance. 
Among  my  skimming  swallows; 

I  make  the  netted  sunbeam  dance 
Against  my  sandy  shallows. 

I  murmur  under  moon  and  stars 
In  brambly  wildernesses, 

I  linger  by  my  shingly  bars, 
I  loiter  round  my  cressesc 


ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS.  6] 

And  out  again  I  curve  and  flow 

To  join  the  brimming  river  ; 
For  men  may  come  and  men  may  go, 

But  I  go  on  forever. 

Alfred  Tennyson. 


THANATOPSIS, 


(y 


To  him  who,  in  the  love  of  Nature,  holds 

Communion  with  her  visible  forms,  she  speaks 

A  various  language  :  for  his  gayer  hours 

She  has  a  voice  of  gladness,  and  a  smile 

And  eloquence  of  beauty  ;  and  she  glides 

Into  his  darker  musings,  with  a  mild 

And  gentle  sympathy,  that  steals  away 

Their  sharpness,  ere  he  is  aware^  When  thoughts 

Of  the  last  bitter  hour  come  like  a  blight 

Over  thy  ^irit,  and  sad  images 

Of  the  stern  agony,  and  shroud,  and  pall. 

And  breathless  darkness,  and  the  narrow  house, 

Make  thee  to  shudder,  and  grow  sick  at  heart. 

Go  forth  under  the  open  sky,  and  list 

To  Nature's  teachings,  while  from  all  around  — 

Earth  and  her  waters,  and  the  depths  of  air  — 

Comes  a  still  voice,  — Yet  a  few  days,  and  thee 

The  all-beholding  sun  shall  see  no  more 

In  all  his  course  ;  nor  yet  in  the  cold  ground. 

Where  thy  pale  form  was  laid,  with  many  tears, ' 

Nor  in  the  embrace  of  ocean,  shall  exist 

Thy  image.     Earth,  that  nourished  thee,  shall  claim 

Thy  growth,  to  be  resolved  to  earth  again  ; 

And,  lost  each  human  trace,  surrendering  up 

Thine  individual  being,  shalt  thou  go 

To  mix  forever  with  the  elements ; 

To  be  a  brother  to  the  insensible  rock. 

And  to  the  sluggish  clod,  which  the  rude  swain 


62  ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS. 

Turns  with  his  share,  and  treads  upon.     The  oak 

Shall  send  his  roots  abroad,  and  pierce  thy  mould. 

Yet  not  to  thy  eternal  resting-place 

Shalt  thou  retire  alone  —  nor  couldst  thou  wish 

Couch  more  magnificent.     Thou  shalt  lie  down 

With  patriarchs  of  the  infant  world, — with  kings, 

The  powerful  of  the  earth, —  the  wise,  the  good. 

Fair  forms,  and  hoary  seers  of  ages  past, 

All  in  one  mighty  sepulchre.     The  hills. 

Rock-ribbed,  and  ancient  as  the  sun ;  the  vales 

Stretching  in  pensive  quietness  between  ; 

The  venerable  woods  ;  rivers  that  move 

In  majesty,  and  the  complaining  brooks. 

That  make  the  meadows  green;  and,  poured  round  all, 

Old  ocean's  gray  and  melancholy  waste,  — 

Are  but  the  solemn  decorations  all 

Of  the  great  tomb  of  man  !     The  golden  sun, 

The  planets,  all  the  infinite  host  of  heaven. 

Are  shining  on  the  sad  abodes  of  de%th. 

Through  the  still  lapse  of  ages.     All  that  tread 

The  globe  are  but  a  handful  to  the  tribes 

That  slumber  in  its  bosom.     Take  the  wings 

Of  morning,  and  the  Barcan  desert  pierce, 

Or  lose  thyself  in  the  continuous  woods 

Where  rolls  the  Oregon,  and  hears  no  sound, 

Save  his  own  dashings  —  yet  the  dead  are  there  ! 

And  millions  in  those  solitudes,  since  first 

The  flight  of  years  began,  have  laid  them  down 

In  their  last  sleep  —  the  dead  reign  there  alone ! 

So  shalt  thou  rest ;  and  what  if  thou  shalt  fall 

Unnoticed  by  the  living,  and  no  friend 

Take  note  of  thy  departure  ?     All  that  breathe 

Will  share  thy  destiny.     The  gay  will  laugh 

When  thou  art  gone,  the  solemn  brood  of  care 

Plod  on,  and  each  one,  as  before,  will  chase 

His  favorite  phantom  ;  yet  all  these  shall  leave 

Their  mirth  and  their  employments,  and  shall  come 


ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS.  63 

And  make  their  bed  with  thee.     As  the  long  train 
Of  ages  glide  away,  the  sons  of  men  — 
The  youth  in  life's  green  spring,  and  he  who  goes 
In  the  full  strength  of  years,  matron  and  maid, 
The  bowed  with  age,  the  infant  in  the  smiles 
And  beauty  of  its  innocent  age  cut  off — 
Shall,  one  by  one,  be  gathered  to  thy  side, 
By  those  who  in  their  turn  shall  follow  them. 

So  live,  that  when  thy  summons  comes,  to  join 
The  innumerable  caravan,  that  moves 
To  the  pale  realms  of  shade,  where  each  shall  take 
His  chamber  in  the  silent  halls  of  death. 
Thou  go  not,  like  the  quarry-slave  at  night, 
Scourged  to  his  dungeon  ;  but,  sustained  and  soothed 
By  an  unfaltering  trust,  approach  thy  grave 
Like  one  who  wraps  the  drapery  of  his  couch 
About  him,  and  lies  down  to  pleasant  dreams. 

Bryant. 


VOICES  OF  THE  DEAD. 

We  die^  but  leave  an  influence  behind  us  that  survives. 
The  echoes  of  our  words  are  evermore  repeated,  and  re- 
flected along  the  ages.  It  is  what  man  was  that  lives  and 
acts  after  him.  What  he  said  sounds  along  the  years  like 
voices  amid  the  mountain  gorges ;  and  what  he  did  is 
repeated  after  him  in  ever-multiplying  and  never-ceasing 
reverberations.  Every  man  has  left  behind  him  influences, 
for  good  or  for  evil,  that  will  never  exhaust  themselves. 
The  s^^here  in  which  he  acts  may  be  small,  or  it  may  be 
great.  It  may  be  his  fireside,  or  it  may  be  a  kingdom  ;  a 
village,  or  a  great  nation;  it  may  be  a  parish,  or  broad 
Europe;  but  act  he  does,  ceaselessly  and  forever.  His 
friends,  his  family,  his  successors  in  office,  his  relatives  are 
all  receptive   of  an  influence,  a  moral   influence  which  he 


64  ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS. 

has  transmitted  and  bequeathed  to  mankind ;  either  a  bless- 
ing, which  will  repeat  itself  in  showers  of  benedictions,  or 
^  curse,  which  will  multiply  itself  in  ever  accumulating  evil. 

Every  man  is  a  missionary,  now  and  forever,  for  good  or 
for  evil,  whether  he  intends  and  designs  it,  or  not.  He  may 
be  a  blot,  radiating  his  dark  influence  outward,  to  the  very 
circumference  of  society,  or  he  may  be  a  blessing,  spreading 
benedictions  over  the  length  and  breadth  of  the  world ;  but 
a  blank  he  cannot  be.  The  seed  sown  in  life  springs  up  in 
harvests  of  blessings,  or  harvests  of  sorrow.  Whether 
our  influence  be  great  or  small,  whether  it  be  good  of 
evil,  it  lasts,  it  lives  somewhere,  within  some  limit,  and 
is  operative  wherever  it  is.  The  grave  buries  the  dead 
dust,  but  the  character  walks  the  world,  and  distributes 
itself,  as  a  benediction  or  a  curse,  among  the  families  of 
mankind. 

The  sun  sets  beyond  the  western  hills,  but  the  trail  of 
light  he  leaves  behind  him  guides  the  pilgrim  to  his  distant 
home.  The  tree  falls  in  the  forest ;  but  in  the  lapse  of  ages 
it  is  turned  into  coal,  and  our  fires  burn  now  the  brighter, 
because  it  grew  and  fell.  The  coral  insect  dies,  but  the 
reef  it  raised  breaks  the  surge  on  the  shores  of  great  conti- 
nents, or  has  formed  an  isle  in  the  bosom  of  the  ocean,  to 
wave  with  harvests  for  the  good  of  man.  We  live  and  we 
die ;  but  the  good  or  evil  that  we  do  lives  after  us,  and  is 
not  "  buried  with  our  bones." 

The  babe  that  perished  on  the  bosom  of  its  mother,  like  a 
flower  that  bowed  its  head  and  drooped  amid  the  death- 
frosts  of  time,  —  that  babe,  not  only  in  its  image,  but  in  its 
influence,  still  lives  and  speaks  in  the  chambers  of  the 
mother's  heart. 

The  friend  with  whom  we  took  sweet  counsel  is  removed 
visibly  from  the  outward  eye  ;  but  the  lessons  that  he  taught, 
the  grand  sentiments  that  he  uttered,  the  holy  deeds  of  gen- 
erosity by  which  he  was  characterized,  the  moral  lineaments 
and  likeness  of  the  man,  still  survi\e,  and  appear  in  tlie 
silence  of  eventide,  and  on  the  tablets  of  memory,  and  in 


ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS.  65 

the  light  of  morn,  and  noon,  and  dewy  eve ;  and,  being 
dead,  he  yet  speaks  eloquently,  and  in  the  midst  of  us. 

Mahomet  still  lives  in  his  practical  and  disastrous  influ- 
ence in  the  East.  Napoleon  still  is  France,  and  France  is 
almost  Napoleon.  Martin  Luther's  dead  dust  sleeps  at  Wit- 
tenburg,  but  Martin  Luther's  accents  still  ring  through  the 
churches  of  Christendom.  Shakespeare,  Byron,  and  Milton, 
all  live  in  their  ^influence,  for  good  or  evil.  The  apostle 
from  his  chair,  the  minister  from  his  pulpit,  the  martyr  from 
his  flame-shroud,  the  statesman  from  his  cabinet,  tlie  soldier 
in  the  field,  the  sailor  on  the  deck,  v^ho  all  have  passed 
away  to  their  graves,  still  live  in  the  practical  deeds  that 
they  did,  in  the  lives  they  lived,  and  in  the  powerful  lessons 
that  they  left  behind  them. 

''None  of  us  liveth  to  himself;"  others  are  affected  by 
that  life;  "or  dieth  to  himself;"  others  are  interested  in 
that  death.  Our  queen's  crown  may  moulder,  but  she  who 
wore  it  will  act  upon  the  ages  which  are  yet  to  come.  The 
noble's  coronet  may  be  reft  in  pieces,  but  the  wearer  of  it  Is 
now  doing  what  will  be  reflected  by  thousands  who  will  be 
made  and  moulded  by  him.  Dignity,  and  rank,  and  riches, 
are  all  corruptible  and  worthless  ;  but  moral  character  has 
an  immortality  that  no  sword-point  can  destroy  ;  that  ever 
walks  the  world  and  leaves  lasting  influences  behind. 

What  we  do  is  transacted  on  a  stage  of  which  all  in  the 
universe  are  spectators.  What  we  say  is  transmitted  in  echoes 
that  will  never  cease.  What  we  are  is  influencing  and  act- 
ing on  the  rest  of  mankind.  Neutral  we  cannot  be.  Living 
we  act,  and  dead  we  speak  ;  and  the  whole  universe  is  the 
mighty  company  forever  looking,  forever  listening,  and  all 
nature  the  tablets  forever  recording  the  words,  the  deeds,  the 
thoughts,  the  passions,  of  mankind  ! 

Monuments,  and  columns,  and  statues,  erected  to  heroes, 
poets,  orators,  statesmen,  are  all  influences  that  extend  into 
tile  future  ages.  ''The  blind  old  man  of  Scio's  rocky  isle" 
still  speaks.  "  The  Mantuan  bard  still  sings  in  every 
school.  Shakespeare,  the  bard  of  Avon,  is  still  translated 
5 


66  ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS. 

into  every  tongue.  The  philosophy  of  the  Stagyrite  is  still 
felt  in  every  academy.  Whether  these  influences  are  benefi- 
cent or  the  reverse,  they  are  influences  fraught  with  power. 
How  blest  must  be  the  recollection  of  those  who,  like  the 
setting  sun,  have  left  a  trail  of  light  behind  them  by  whicli 
others  may  see  the  way  to  that  rest  which  remaineth  with 
the  people  of  God ! 

It  is  only  the  pure  fountain  that  brings  forth  pure  water. 
The  good  tree  only  will  produce  the  good  fruit.  If  the 
centre  from  which  all  proceeds  is  pure  and  holy,  the  radii 
of  influence  from  it  will  be  pure  and  holy  also.  Go  forth, 
then,  into  the  spheres  that  you  occupy,  the  employments, 
the  trades,  the  professions  of  social  life ;  go  forth  into  the 
high  places  or  into  the  lowly  places  of  the  land  ;  mix  with 
the  roaring  cataracts  of  social  convulsions,  or  mingle  amid 
the  eddies  and  streamlets  of  quiet  and  domestic  life  ;  what- 
ever sphere  you  fill,  carrying  into  it  a  holy  heart,  you  will 
radiate  around  you  life  and  power,  and  leave  behind  you 
holy  and  beneficent  influences. 

Gumming. 


A  GAINS  T  WHIPPING  IN  THE  NAVY. 

There  is  one  broad  proposition.  Senators,  upon  which 
I  stand.  It  is  this,  —  that  an  American  sailor  is  an  Ameri- 
can citizen,  and  that  no  American  citizen  shall,  with  my 
consent,  be  subjected  to  the  infamous  punishment  of  the  lash. 
Placing  myself  upon  this  proposition,  I  am  prepared  for 
any  consequences. 

I  love  the  navy.  When  I  speak  of  the  navy,  I  mean 
the  sailor  as  well  as  the  officer.  They  are  all  my  fellow- 
citizens  and  yours ;  and  come  what  may,  my  voice  will  ever 
be  raised  against  a  punishment  which  degrades  my  country- 
men to  the  level  of  a  brute,  and  destroys  all  that  is  worth 
living  for,  —  personal  honor  and  self-respect. 

In  many   a  bloody  conflict  has  the  superiority  of  Amer 


ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS.  67 

ican  sailors  decided  die  battle  in  our  favor.  1  desire  to  se- 
cure and  preserve  that  superiority.  But  can  nobleness  of 
sentiment  or  honorable  pride  of  character  dwell  v^ith  one 
whose  every  muscle  has  been  made  to  quiver  under  the  lash  ? 
Can  he  long  continue  to  love  a  country  whose  laws  crush 
out  all  the  dignity  of  manhood  and  rouse  all  the  exasperation 
of  hate  in  his  breast? 

Look  to  your  history,  —  that  part  of  it  which  the  world 
knows  by  heart,  —  and  you  will  find  on  its  brightest  page 
the  glorious  achievements  of  the  American  sailor.  What- 
ever his  country  has  done  to  disgrace  him  and  break  his 
spirits,  he  has  never  disgraced  her.  Man  for  man,  he  asks 
no  odds,  and  he  cares  for  no  odds,  when  the  cause  of  hu- 
manity or  the  glory  of  his  country  calls  him  to  the  fight. 

Who,  in  the  darkest  days  of  our  Revolution,  carried 
your  flag  into  the  very  chops  of  the  British  Channel,  bearded 
the  lion  in  his  den,  and  awoke  the  echo  of  old  Albion's  hills 
by  the  thunder  of  his  cannon,  and  the  shouts  of  his  tri- 
umph? It  was  the  American  sailor  ;  and  the  names  of  John 
Paul  Jones  and  the  Bon  Homme  Richard  will  go  down 
the  annals  of  time  forever. 

Who  struck  the  first  blow  that  humbled  the  Barbary 
flag,  —  which,  for  a  hundred  years,  had  been  the  terror  of 
Christendom,  —  drove  it  from  the  Mediterranean,  and  put  an 
end  to  the  infamous  tribute  it  had  been  accustomed  to  exact? 
It  was  the  American  sailor;  and  the  names  of  Decatur  and 
his  gallant  companions  will  be  as  lasting  as  monumental 
brass. 

In  your  war  of  i8i3,  when  your  arms  on  shore  were 
covered  by  disaster,  —  when  Winchester  had  been  defeated, 
when  the  army  of  the  Northwest  had  surrendered,  and  when 
the  gloom  of  despondency  hung  like  a  cloud  over  the  land, 
—  who  first  relit  the  fires  of  national  glory,  and  made  the 
welkin  ring  with  the  shouts  of  victory?  It  was  the  Ameri- 
can sailor;  and  the  names  of  Hull  and  the  Constitution  will 
be  remembered  as  long  as  we  have  a  country  to  love. 

That  one   event  was  worth  more  to  the   Republic  than 


68  ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS. 

all  the  money  which  has  ever  been  expended  for  a  navy. 
Since  that  day,  the  navy  has  had  no  stain  upon  its  national 
escutcheon,  but  has  been  cherished  as  your  pride  and  glory ; 
and  the  American  sailor  has  established  a  reputation  through- 
out the  world,  in  peace  and  in  war,  in  storm  and  in  battle, 
for  a  heroism  and  prowess  unsurpassed. 

The  great  climax  of  Cicero  in  his  speech  against  Ver- 
res  is,  that,  though  a  Roman  citizen,  his  client  had  been 
scourged.  Will  this  more  than  Roman  Senate  long  debate 
whether  an  American  citizen,  sailor  though  he  be,  shall  be 
robbed  of  his  rights?  whether,  freeman  as  he  is,  he  shall  be 
scourged  like  a  slave? 

Shall  an  American  citizen  be  scourged.'*  Forbid  it, 
Heaven  !  Humanity  forbid  it !  For  myself,  I  would  rather 
see  the  navy  abolished,  and  the  stars  and  the  stripes  buried, 
with  their  glory,  in  the  depths  of  the  ocean,  than  that  those 
who  won  for  it  all  its  renown  should  be  subjected  to  a  pun- 
ishment so  brutal,  to  an  ignominy  so  undeservd. 

Commodore  Stockton. 


A  MAN'S  A   MAN  FOR  A'    THAT,  AN'  A'   THAT. 

Is  there,  for  honest  poverty, 

That  hangs  his  head,  an'  a*  that? 
The  coward  slave  we  pass  him  by, 

We  dare  be  poor  for  a'  that ! 
For  a'  that,  an'  a'  that, 

Our  toil 's  obscure,  an'  a'  that ; 
The  rank  is  but  the  guinea's  stamp, 

The  man  's  the  gowd  for  a'  that. 

What  tho'  on  hamely  fare  we  dine, 

Wear  hoddin  gray,  an'  a'  that ; 
Gi'e  fools  their  silks,  an'  knaves  their  wine, 

A  man  's  a  man  for  a'  that ; 


ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS. 

For  a'  that,  an'  a'  that, 
Their  tinsel  show,  an'  a'  that ; 
The  honest  man,  though  e'er  sae  poor, 
Is  king  o'  men  for  a'  that. 

Ye  see  yon  birkie,  ca'd  a  lord, 

Wha  struts,  an'  stares,  an'  a'  that ; 
Tho'  hundreds  worship  at  his  word, 

He  's  but  a  coof  for  a'  that  : 
For  a'  that,  an'  a'  that ; 

His  riband,  star,  an'  a'  that ; 
The  man  of  independent  mind. 

He  looks  an'  laughs  at  a'  that. 

A  prince  can  mak'  a  belted  knight, 

A  marquis,  duke,  an'  a'  that ; 
But  an  honest  man  's  aboon  his  might, 

Gude  faith  he  mauna  fa'  that. 
For  a'  that,  an'  a'  that, 

Their  dignities,  an'  a'  that; 
The  pith  o'  sense,  an'  pride  o'  worth, 

Are  higher  ranks  than  a'  that. 

Then  let  us  pray  that  come  it  may, 

As  come  it  will  for  a'  that, 
That  sense  an'  worth,  o'er  a'  the  earth, 
May  bear  the  gree,  an'  a'  that. 

For  a'  that,  an'  a'  that, 
It's  coming  yet,  for  a'  that. 
That  man  to  man,  the  warld  o'er, 
Shall  brothers  be  for  a'  that. 

Burns- 


69 


70  ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS. 


THE   TRUE   USE   OF   WEALTH, 

There  is  a  saying,  which  is  in  all  good  men's  mouths, 
namely,  that  they  are  stewards  or  ministers  of  wliatevei 
talents  are  entrusted  to  them.  Only,  is  it  not  a  strange 
thing  that  while  we  more  or  less  accept  the  meaning  of  that 
saying,  so  long  as  it  is  considered  metaphorical,  we  never 
accept  its  meaning  in  its  own  terms?  Yon  know  the  lesson 
is  given  us  under  the  form  of  a  story  about  money.  Money 
was  given  to  the  servants  to  make  use  of:  the  unprofitable 
servant  dug  in  the  earth,  and  hid  his  Lord's  money.  Well, 
we  in  our  poetical  and  spiritual  application  of  this,  say  that 
of  course  money  doesn't  mean  money  —  it  means  wit,  it 
means  intellect,  it  means  influence  in  high  quarters,  it  means 
everything  in  the  world  except  itself. 

And  do  you  not  see  what  a  pretty  and  pleasant  come- 
off  there  is  for  most  of  us  in  this  spiritual  application?  Of 
course,  if  we  had  wit,  we  would  use  it  for  the  good  of  our 
fel low-creatures  ;  but  we  haven't  wit.  Of  course,  if  we  had 
influence  with  the  bishops,  we  woidd  use  it  for  the  good  of 
the  church  ;  but  we  haven't  any  influence  with  the  bishops. 
Of  course,  if  we  had  political  power,  we  would  use  it  for 
the  good  of  the  nation  ;  but  we  have  no  political  power  ;  we 
have  no  talents  entrusted  to  us  of  any  sort  or  kind.  It  is  true 
we  have  a  little  money,  but  the  parable  can't  possibly  mean 
anything  so  vulgar  as  money  ;  our  money's  our  own. 

I  believe,  if  you  think  seriously  of  this  matter,  you  will 
feel  that  the  first  and  most  literal  application  is  just  as  neces- 
sary a  one  as  any  other  —  that  the  story  does  very  speciall}' 
mean  what  it  says  —  plain  money;  and  that  the  reason  we 
don't  at  once  believe  it  does  so,  is  a  sort  of  tacit  idea  that 
while  thought,  wit,  and  intellect,  and  all  power  of  birth  and 
position,  are  indeed  given  to  us,  and,  therefore,  to  be  laid 
out  for  the  Giver,  —  our  wealth  has  not  been  given  to  us; 
but  we  have  w^orked  for  it,  and  have  a  right  to  spend  it  as 


1 


ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS.  71 

we  choose.  I  think  you  will  find  that  is  the  real  substance 
of  our  understanding  in  this  matter.  Beauty,  we  say,  is  given 
by  God  —  it  is  a  talent ;  strengtii  is  given  by  God  —  it  is  a 
talent ;  but  money  is  proper  wages  for  our  day's  work  —  it 
is  not  a  talent,  it  is  a  due.  We  may  justly  spend  it  on  our- 
selves, if  we  have  worked  for  it. 

And  there  would  be  some  shadow  of  excuse  for  this, 
were  it  not  that  the  very  power  of  making  the  money  is 
itself  only  one  of  the  applications  of  that  intellect  or  strength 
which  we  confess  to  be  talents.  Why  is  one  man  richer 
than  another.?  Because  he  is  more  industrious,  more  per- 
severing, and  more  sagacious.  Well,  who  made  him  more 
persevering  and  more  sagacious  than  others?  That  power 
of  endurance,  that  quickness  of  apprehension,  that  calmness 
of  judgment,  which  enable  liim  to  seize  opportunities  that 
others  lose,  and  persist  in  the  lines  of  conduct  in  which 
others  fail  —  are  these  not  talents? — are  they  not,  in  the 
present  state  of  the  world,  among  the  most  distinguished 
and  influential  of  mental  gifts  ? 

And  is  it  not  wonderful,  that  while  we  should  be 
utterly  ashamed  to  use  a  superiority  of  body  in  order  to 
thrust  our  weaker  companions  aside  from  some  place  of 
advantage,  we  unhesitatingly  use  our  superiorities  of  mind 
to  thrust  them  back  from  whatever  good  that  strength  of 
mind  can  attain?  You  would  be  indignant  if  you  saw  a 
strong  man  walk  into  a  theatre  or  a  lecture-room,  and, 
calmly  choosing  the  best  place,  take  his  feeble  neighbor  by 
the  shoulder,  and  turn  him  out  of  it  into  the  back  seats 
or  the  street.  You  w^ould  be  equally  indignant  if  you  saw  a 
stout  fellow  thrust  himself  up  to  a  table  where  some  hungry 
children  are  being  fed,  and  reach  his  arm  over  their  heads 
and  take  their  bread  from  them. 

But  you  are  not  the  least  indignant  if  when  a  man  has 
stoutness  of  thought  and  swiftness  of  capacity,  and,  instead 
of  being  long-armed  only,  has  the  mucli  greater  gift  of 
being  long-headed  —  you  think  it  perfectly  just  that  he 
should  use  his  intellect  to  take  the  bread  out  of  the  mouths 


I'l  ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS. 

of  all  the  other  men  in  the  town  who  are  in  the  same  trade 
with  him  ;  or  use  his  breadth  and  sweep  of  sight  to  gather 
some  branch  of  the  commerce  of  the  country  into  one  great 
cobweb,  of  which  he  is  himself  the  central  spider,  making 
every  thread  vibrate  with  the  points  of  his  claws,  and  com- 
manding every  avenue  with  the  facets  of  his  eyes.  You  see 
no  injustice  in  this. 

But  there  is  injustice  ;  and,  let  us  trust,  one  of  which 
honorable  men  will,  at  no  very  distant  period,  disdain  to  be 
guilty.  In  some  degree,  however,  it  is  indeed  not  unjust ;  in 
some  degree  it  is  necessary  and  intended.  It  is  assuredly 
just  that  idleness  should  be  surpassed  by  energy ;  that  the 
widest  influence  should  be  possessed  by  those  who  are  best 
able  to  wield  it ;  and  that  a  wise  man,  at  the  end  of  his 
career,  should  be  better  oft' than  a  fool.  But  for  that  reason, 
is  the  fool  to  be  wretched,  utterly  crushed  down,  and  left  in 
all  the  suftering  which  his  conduct  and  capacity  naturally 
inflict?     Not  so. 

What  do  you  suppose  fools  were  made  for?  That  you 
might  tread  upon  them,  and  starve  them,  and  get  the  better 
of  them  in  every  possible  way?  By  no  means.  They  were 
made  that  wise  people  might  take  care  of  them.  That  is  the 
true  and  plain  fact  concerning  the  relations  of  every  strong 
and  wise  man  to  the  world  about  him.  He  has  his  strength 
given  him,  not  that  he  may  crush  the  weak,  but  that  he  may 
support  and  guide  them.  In  his  own  household  he  is  to  be 
the  guide  and  support  of  his  children  ;  out  of  his  household 
he  is  still  to  be  the  father,  that  is,  the  guide  and  support,  of 
the  weak  and  the  poor;  not  merely  of  the  meritoriously 
weak  and  the  innocently  poor,  but  of  the  guiltily  and  punish- 
ably poor;  of  the  men  who  ought  to  have  known  better  — 
of  the  poor  who  ought  to  be  ashamed  of  themselves. 

It  is  nothing  to  give  pension  and  cottage  to  the  widow 
who  has  lost  her  son  ;  it  is  nothing  to  give  food  and  medi- 
cine to  the  workman  who  1ias  broken  his  arm,  or  the  de- 
crepit woman  wasting  in  sickness.  But  it  is  something  to 
use  your  time  and  strength  in  war  with  the  waywardness 


ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS.  73 

and  thoughtlessness  of  mankind  ;  to  keep  the  erring  work- 
man in  your  service  till  you  have  made  him  an  unerring 
one;  and  to  direct  your  fellow-merchant  to  the  opportunity 
which  his  dulness  would  have  lost. 

This  is  much  ;  but  it  is  yet  more,  when  you  have  fully 
achieved  tlie  superiority  which  is  due  to  you,  and  acquired 
the  wealth  which  is  the  fitting  reward  of  your  sagacity,  if 
you  solemnly  accept  the  responsibility  of  it,  as  it  is  the  helm 
and  guide  of  labor  far  and  near.  For  you  who  have  it  in 
your  hands,  are  in  reality  the  pilots  of  the  power  and  efibrt 
of  the  State.  It  is  entrusted  to  you  as  an  authority  to  be 
used  for  good  or  evil,  just  as  completely  as  kingly  authority 
was  ever  given  to  a  prince,  or  military  command  to  a  cap- 
tain. And  according  to  the  quantity  of  it  you  have  in  your 
hands,  you  are  arbiters  of  the  will  and  work  of  the  nation  ; 
and  the  whole  issue,  whether  the  work  of  the  State  shall 
suffice  for  the  State  or  not,  depends  upon  you. 

You  may  stretch  out  your  sceptre  over  the  heads  of 
the  laborers,  and  say  to  them,  as  they  stoop  to  its  waving, 
"  Subdue  this  obstacle  that  has  baffled  our  fathers ;  put 
away  this  plague  that  consumes  our  children  ;  water  these 
dry  places,  plough  these  desert  ones,  carry  this  food  to  those 
who  are  in  hunger;  carry  this  light  to  those  who  arc  in 
darkness  ;  carry  this  life  to  those  who  arc  in  death  ;  "  or  on 
the  other  side  you  may  say  :  *'  Here  am  I  ;  this  power  is  in 
my  hand  ;  come,  build  a  mound  here  for  me  to  be  throned 
upon,  high  and  wide  ;  come,  make  crowns  for  my  head, 
that  men  may  see  them  shine  from  far  away  ;  come,  weave 
tapestries  for  my  feet,  that  I  may  tread  softly  on  the  silk  and 
purple  ;  come,  dance  before  me,  that  I  may  be  gay  ;  and 
sing  sweetly  to  me,  that  I  may  slumber  ;  so  shall  I  live  in 
joy,  and  die  in  honor."  And  better  than  such  an  honorable 
death  it  were,  that  the  day  had  perished  wherein  we  were 
horn. 

I  trust  that  in  a  little  while  there  will  be  few  of  our 
rich  uicn  who,  through  carelessness  or  covetousness,  tiiiis 
forfeit  the  glorious  office  which  is  intended  for  their  hands. 


74  ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS. 

I  said,  just  now,  that  wealth,  ill-used,  was  as  the  net  of  the 

spider,  entangling  and  destroying;  but  wealth,  well-used,  is 

as  the  net  of  the  sacred  Fisher  who  gathers  souls  of  men  out 

of  the  deep.     A  time  will    come  —  I  do   not  think  it  is  far 

from  us  —  when  this  golden  net  of  the  world's  wealth  will 

be   spread   abroad  as  the  flaming   meshes  of  morning  cloud 

over  the  sky  ;  bearing  with   them  the  joy  of  light   and  the 

dew  of  the  morning,  as  well  as  the  summons  to  honorable 

and  peaceful  toil. 

John  Ruskin. 


HAMLET'S  INSTRUCTION  TO   THE  PLAYERS, 

Speak  the  speech,  I  pray  you,  as  I  pronounced  it  to  you, 

—  trippingly  on  the  tongue;  but  if  you  mouth  it,  as  many 
of  our  players  do,  I  had  as  lief  the  town-crier  spake  my 
lines.  Nor  do  not  saw  the  air  too  much  with  your  hand 
thus,  but  use  all  gently  ;  for  in  the  very  torrent,  tempest, 
and,  as  I  may  say,  whirlwind  of  your  passion,  you  must 
acquire  and  beget  a  temperance,  that  may  give  it  smooth- 
ness. Oh  !  it  offends  me  to  the  soul,  to  hear  a  robustious 
periwig-pated  fellow  tear  a  passion  to  tatters,  —  to  very  rags, 

—  to  split  the  ears  of  the  groundlings;  who,  for  the  most 
part,  are  capable  of  nothing  but  inexplicable  dumb  show 
and  noise.  I  would  have  such  a  fellow  whipped  for  o'er- 
(loing  Termagant:   it  out-herods  Herod.    Pray  you,  avoid  it. 

Be  not  too  tame  neither,  but  let  your  own  discretion  be 
your  tutor.  Suit  tlie  action  to  the  word  ;  the  word  to  the 
action;  with  this  special  observance  —  that  you  o'erstep  not 
the  modesty  of  nature  :  for  anything  so  overdone  is  from  the 
purpose  of  playing;  whose  end,  both  at  the  first  and  now, 
was,  and  is,  to  hold,  as  'twere,  the  mirror  up  to  nature  ;  —  to 
show  virtue  her  own  feature;  scorn  her  own  image;  and 
the  very  age  and  body  of  the  time,  his  form  and  pressure. 


ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS.  75 

Now  this,  overdone  or  come  tardy  off,  though  it  make  the 
unskilfid  laugh,  cannot  but  make  the  judicious  grieve  ;  the 
censure  of  wliich  one,  must,  in  your  allowance,  o*erweigli 
a  whole  theatre  of  others.  Oh  !  there  be  players,  that  I 
have  seen  play,  and  heard  others  praise,  and  that  highly, 
not  to  speak  it  profanely,  that,  neither  having  the  accent  of 
Christians,  nor  the  gait  of  Christian,  pagan,  or  man,  have  so 
strutted  and  bellowed,  that  I  have  thought  some  of  nature's 
joiH'neymen  liad  made  men,  and  not  made  them  well, — - 
they  imitated  humanity  so  abominably  ! 

Shakespeare. 


JOHN  BURNS   OF  GETTYSBURG, 

Have  you  heard  the  story  the  gossips  tell 

Of  John  Burns  of  Gettysburg?  — No?     Ah,  well  I 

Brief  is  the  glory  that  hero  earns. 

Briefer  the  story  of  poor  John  Burns  ; 

He  was  the  fellow  who  won  renown  — 

The  only  man  who  didn't  back  down 

When  the  rebels  rode  through  his  native  town; 

But  held  his  own  in  the  fight  next  day, 

When  all  his  townsfolk  ran  away. 

That  was  in  July,  sixty-three,  — 

The  very  day  that  General  Lee, 

The  flower  of  Southern  chivalry, 

Baffled  and  beaten,  backward  reeled 

From  a  stubborn  Meade  and  a  barren  field, 

I  might  tell  how,  but  the  day  before, 

John  Burns  stood  at  his  cottage-door, 

Looking  down  the  village  street. 

Where,  in  the  shade  of  his  peaceful  vine, 
He  heard  the  low  of  his  gathered  kine, 

And  felt  their  breath  with  incense  sweet ; 


76  ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS. 

Or,  I  might  say,  when  the  sunset  burned 
The  old  farm  gable,  he  thought  it  turned 
The  milk  that  fell  in  a  babbling  flood 
Into  the  milk-pail,  red  as  blood  ; 
Or,  how  he  fancied  the  hum  of  bees 
Were  bullets  buzzing  among  the  trees. 

But  all  such  fanciful  thouglits  as  these 

Were  strange  to  a  practical  man  like  Burns, 

Who  minded  only  his  own  concerns, 

Troubled  no  more  by  fancies  fine 

Than  one  of  his  calm-eyed,  long-tailed  kine- 

Qiiite  old-fashioned,  and  matter-of-fact, 

Slow  to  argue,  but  quick  to  act. 

That  was  the  reason,  as  some  folks  say, 

He  fought  so  well  on  that  terrible  chiy. 

And  it  was  terrible.     On  the  right 

Raged  for  hours  the  heavy  fight. 

Thundered  the  battery's  double  bass  — 

Difficult  music  for  men  to  face  ; 

While  on  the  left  —  where  now  the  graves 

Undulate  like  the  living  waves 

That  all  the  day  unceasing  swept 

Up  to  the  pits  the  rebels  kept  — 

Round  shot  ploughed  the  upland  glades, 

Sown  with  bullets,  reaped  with  blades  ; 

Shattered  fences  here  and  there. 

Tossed  their  splinters  in  the  air ; 

The  very  trees  were  stripped  and  bare ; 

The  barns  that  once  held  yellov/  grain 

Were  heaped  with  harvests  of  the  slain  ; 

The  cattle  bellowed  on  the  plain. 

The  turkeys  screamed  with  might  and  main. 

And  brooding  barn-fowl  left  their  rest 

With  strange  shells  bursting  in  each  nest. 


ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS.  77 

Just  where  the  tide  of  battle  turns, 

Erect  and  lonely,  stood  old  John  Burns. 

How  do  you  think  the  man  was  dressed? 

He  wore  an  ancient,  long  buff  vest, 

Yellow  as  saffron  —  but  his  best ; 

And,  buttoned  over  his  manly  breast 

Was  a  bright  blue  coat  with  a  rolling  collar. 

And  large  gilt  buttons  —  size  of  a  dollar  — 

With  tails  that  country-folk  called  "  swaller." 

He  wore  a  broad-brimmed,  bell-crowned  hat. 

White  as  the  locks  on  which  it  sat. 

Never  had  such  a  sight  been  seen 

For  forty  years  on  the  village  green. 

Since  John  Burns  was  a  country  beau. 

And  went  to  the  ''  quilting"  long  ago. 

Close  at  his  elbows,  all  that  day, 

Veterans  of  the  Peninsula, 

Sunburnt  and  bearded,  charged  away. 

And  striplings,  downy  of  lip  and  chin, — 

Clerks  that  the  Home  Guard  mustered  in,  — 

Glanced,  as  they  passed,  at  the  hat  he  wore. 

Then  at  the  rifle  his  right  hand  bore  ; 

And  hailed  him  from  out  their  youthful  lore. 

With  scraps  of  a  slangy  refoj-toii^e: 

"  How  are  you.  White  Hat  ?  "    "  Put  her  through  !  " 

'^  Your  head  's  level !  "  and,  ''  Bully  for  you  !  " 

Called  him  ''  Daddy,"  —  and  begged  he'd  disclose 

The  name  of  the  tailor  who  made  his  clothes. 

And  what  was  the  value  he  set  on  those ; 

W^hile  Burns,  unmindful  of  jeer  and  scoff, 

Stood  there  picking  the  rebels  off — 

With  his  long,  brown  rifle  and  bell-crown  hat. 

And  the  swallow-tails  they  were  laughing  at. 

'Twas  but  a  moment,  for  that  respect 

Which  clothes  all  courage  their  voices  checked ; 


78  ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS. 

And  something  the  wildest  could  understand 

Spake  in  the  old  man's  strong  right  hand, 

And  his  corded  throat,  and  the  lurking  frown 

Of  his  eyebrows  under  his  old  bell-crown  ; 

Until,  as  they  gazed,  there  crept  an  awe 

Through  the  ranks  in  whispers,  and  some  men  saw. 

In  the  antique  vestments  and  long  white  hair, 

The  Past  of  the  Nation  in  battle  there. 

And  some  of  the  soldiers  since  declare, 

That  the  gleam  of  his  old  white  hat  afar, 

Like  the  crested  plume  of  the  brave  Navarre, 

That  day  was  their  oriflamme  of  war. 

Thus  raged  the  battle.     You  know  the  rest ; 

How  the  rebels,  beaten,  and  backward  pressed, 

Broke  at  the  final  charge,  and  ran. 

At  which  John  Burns  —  a  practical  man  — 

Shouldered  his  rifle,  unbent  his  brows. 

And  then  went  back  to  his  bees  and  cows. 

This  is  the  story  of  old  John  Burns ; 

This  is  the  moral  the  reader  learns : 

In  fighting  the  battle,  the  question  's  whether 

You'll  show  a  hat  that's  white,  or  a  feather. 

Bret  Harte. 


A   PSALM  OF  LIFE. 

Tell  me  not,  in  mournful  numbers, 
"  Life  is  but  an  empty  dream  !  " 

For  the  soul  is  dead  that  slumbers, 
And  things  are  not  what  they  seem. 

Life  is  real !  Life  is  earnest ! 

And  the  grave  is  not  its  goal ; 
"  Dust  thou  art,  to  dust  returnest,** 

Was  not  spoken  of  the  soul. 


ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS.  79 

Not  enjoyment,  and  not  sorrow, 

Is  our  destined  end  or  way ; 
But  to  act,  that  each  to-morrow, 

Find  us  farther  than  to-day. 

Art  is  long,  and  Time  is  fleeting, 

And  our  hearts,  though  stout  and  bravcj 

Still,  like  muffled  drums,  are  beating, 
Funeral  marches  to  the  grave. 

In  the  w^orld's  broad  field  of  battle, 

In  the  bivouac  of  Life, 
Be  not  like  dumb,  driven  cattle  ! 

Be  a  hero  in  the  strife ! 

Trust  no  Future,  howe'er  pleasant! 

Let  the  dead  Past  bury  its  dead  1 
Act, —  act  in  the  living  Present ! 

Heart  within,  and  God  o'erhead- 

Lives  of  great  men  all  remind  us 

We  can  make  our  lives  sublime, 
And,  departing,  leave  behind  us 

Footprints  on  the  sands  of  time. 

Footprints,  that  perhaps  another. 

Sailing  o'er  life's  solemn  main, 
A  forlorn  and  shipwrecked  brother, 

Seeing,  shall  take  heart  again. 

Let  us,  then,  be  up  and  doing, 

With  a  heart  for  any  fate ; 
Still  achieving,  still  pursuing. 

Learn  to  labor  and  to  wait. 

Longfellow. 


L 


60  ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS. 


LIBERTY  AND    UNION, 

Mr.  President  :  I  have  thus  stated  the  reasons  of  my 
dissent  to  the  doctrines  which  have  been  advanced  and 
maintained.  I  am  conscious  of  having  detained  you  and 
the  Senate  much  too  long.  I  was  drawn  into  the  debate, 
with  no  previous  deliberation,  such  as  is  suited  to  the  dis- 
cussion of  so  grave  and  important  a  subject.  But  it  is  a 
subject  of  which  my  heart  is  full,  and  I  have  not  been  willing 
to  suppress  the  utterance  of  its  spontaneous  sentiments. 

I  cannot,  even  now,  persuade  myself  to  relinquish  it, 
without  expressing,  once  more,  my  deep  conviction,  that, 
since  it  respects  nothing  less  than  the  Union  of  the  States,  it 
is  of  most  vital  and  essential  importance  to  the  public  hap- 
piness. I  profess,  sir,  in  my  career  hitherto,  to  have  kept 
steadily  in  view  the  prosperity  and  honor  of  the  whole 
country,  and  the  preservation  of  our  Federal  Union.  It  is 
to  that  Union  we  owe  our  safety  at  home,  and  our  considera- 
tion and  dignity  abroad.  It  is  to  that  Union  that  we  arc 
chiefly  indebted  for  whatever  makes  us  most  proud  of  our 
country.  That  Union  we  reached  only  b}'  the  discipline  of 
our  virtues  in  the  severe  school  of  adversity. 

It  had  its  origin  in  the  necessities  of  disordered  finance, 
prostrate  commerce,  and  ruined  credit.  Under  its  benign 
influences,  these  great  interests  immediately  awoke,  as  from 
the  dead,  and  sprang  forth  with  newness  of  life.  Every 
year  of  its  duration  has  teemed  with  fresh  proofs  of  its 
utility  and  its  blessings ;  and,  although  our  territory  has 
stretched  out  wider  and  wider,  and  our  population  spread 
farther  and  farther,  they  have  not  outrun  its  protection  or 
its  benefits.  It  nas  been  to  us  all  a  copious  fountain  of 
national,  social,  personal  happiness. 

I  have  not  allowed  myself,  sir,  to  look  beyond  the 
Union,  to  see  what  might  lie  hidden  in  the  dark  recess  be- 
hind.    I  have  not  cooly  weighed  the  chances  of  preserving 


ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS.  81 

liberty,  when  the  bonds  that  unite  us  together  shall  be 
broken  asunder.  I  have  not  accustomed  myself  to  hang 
over  the  precipice  of  disunion,  to  see  whether,  with  my 
short  sight,  I  can  fathom  the  depth  of  the  abyss  below  ;  nor 
could  I  regard  him  as  a  safe  counsellor  in  the  affairs  of  this 
government,  whose  thouglits  should  be  mainly  bent  on  con- 
sidering, not  how  the  Union  might  be  best  preserved,  but 
how  tolerable  might  be  the  condition  of  the  people  when  it 
shall  be  broken  up  and  destroyed. 

While  the  Union  lasts,  we  have  high,  exciting,  gratify- 
ing prospects  spread  out  before  us,  for  us  and  our  chil- 
dren. Beyond  that  I  seek  not  to  penetrate  the  veil.  God 
grant,  that,  in  my  day  at  least,  that  curtain  may  not  rise  ! 
God  grant  that  on  my  vision  never  may  be  opened  what 
lies  behind  !  When  my  eyes  shall  be  turned  to  behold,  for 
the  last  time,  the  sun  in  heaven,  may  I  not  see  him  shining 
on  the  broken  and  dishonored  fragments  of  a  once  glorious 
Union  ;  on  States  dissevered,  discordant,  belligerent ;  on  a 
land  rent  with  civil  feuds,  or  drenched,  it  may  be,  in  frater- 
nal blood  ! 

Let  their  last  feeble  and  lingering  glance,  rather,  be- 
hold the  gorgeous  ensign  of  the  Republic,  now  known  and 
honored  throughout  the  earth,  still  full  high  advanced,  its 
arms  and  trophies  streaming  in  their  original  lustre,  not  a 
stripe  erased  or  polluted,  nor  a  single  star  obscured,  —  bear- 
ing for  its  motto,  no  such  miserable  interrogatory  as  "'  What 
is  all  this  worth?"  nor  those  other  words  of  delusion  and 
folly,  '^Liberty  first,  and  Union  afterwards,"  —  but  every- 
where, spread  all  over  in  characters  of  living  light,  blazing 
on  its  ample  folds,  as  they  floiit  over  the  sea  and  over  the 
land,  and  in  every  wind  under  the  whole  heavens,  that  other 
sentiment,  —  dear  to  every  true  American  heart,  —  Liberty 
and  Union,  now  and  forever^  one  and  inseparable  ! 


I 


Webster. 


82  ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS. 


HENRY  V,  TO  HIS  TROOPS. 

King  Henry.     Once  more  unto  the  breach,  dear  friends, 
once  more ; 
Or  close  the  wall  up  with  our  English  dead  ! 
In  peace,  there's  nothing  so  becomes  a  man. 
As  modest  stillness  and  humility  : 
But  when  the  blast  of  war  blows  in  our  ears, 
Then  imitate  the  action  of  the  tiger; 
Stiffen  the  sinews,  summon  up  the  blood, 
Disguise  fair  nature  with  hard-favor'd  rage, 
Then  lend  the  eye  a  terrible  aspect ; 
Let  it  pry  through  the  portage  of  the  head, 
Like  the  brass  cannon  ;  let  the  brow  o'erwhelm  it, 
As  fearfully  as  doth  a  galled  rock 
O'erhang  and  jutty  his  confounded  base 
Swill'd  with  the  wild  and  wasteful  ocean. 
Now  set  the  teeth,  and  stretch  the  nostril  wide ; 
Hold  hard  the  breath,  and  bend  up  every  spirit 
To  his  full  height.  —  On,  on  you  noblest  English, 
Whose  blood  is  fet  from  fathers  of  war-proof, 
Fathers,  that,  like  so  many  Alexanders, 
Have,  in  these  parts,  from  morn  till  even  fought. 
And  sheathed  their  swords  for  lack  of  argument. 
Dishonor  not  your  mothers  :   now  attest. 
That  those,  whom  you  called  fathers  did  beget  you  : 
Be  copy  now  to  men  of  grosser  blood. 
And  teach  them  how  to  war  !  —  and  you  good  yeomen, 
Whose  limbs  were  made  in  England,  show  us  here 
The  mettle  of  your  pasture  ;  let  us  swear 
That  you  are  worth  your  breeding,  which  I  doubt  not , 
For  there  is  none  of  you  so  mean  and  base, 
That  hath  not  noble  lustre  in  your  eyes. 


I 


ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS.  83 

I  see  you  stand  like  greyhounds  in  the  slips, 
Straining  upon  the  start.     The  game's  afoot ; 
Follow  your  spirit :  and,  upon  this  charge. 
Cry  —  God  for  Harry  !     England  !  and  Saint  George  ! 
~  Shakespeare. 


A  MOTHER'S  PORTRAIT. 

O  THAT  those  lips  had  language !     Life  has  passed 

With  me  but  roughly  since  I  heard  thee  last. 

Those  lips  are  thine,  — thine  own  sweet  smile  I  see, 

The  same  that  oft  in  childhood  solaced  me  ; 

Voice  only  fails,  else  how  distinct  they  say, 

"  Grieve  not,  my  child  ;  chase  all  thy  fears  away  !  " 

The  meek  intelligence  of  those  dear  eyes 

(Blest  be  the  art  that  can  immortalize, 

The  art  that  baffles  Time's  tyrannic  claim 

To  quench  it)  here  shines  on  me  still  the  same. 

Faithful  remembrancer  of  one  so  dear, 

0  welcome  guest,  though  unexpected  here  ! 
Who  bidd'st  me  honor  with  an  artless  song, 
Aflectionate,  a  mother  lost  so  long. 

1  will  obey,  not  willingly  alone, 

But  gladly,  as  the  precept  were  her  own  : 
And,  while  that  face  renews  my  filial  grief, 
Fancy  shall  weave  a  charm  for  my  relief. 
Shall  steep  me  in  Elyslan  revery, 
A  momentary  dream,  that  thou  art  she. 

My  mother !  when  I  learned  that  thou  wast  dead, 
Say,  wast  thou  conscious  of  the  tears  I  shed? 
Hovered  thy  spirit  o'er  thy  sorrowing  son. 
Wretch  even  then,  life's  journey  just  begun? 
Perhaps  thou  gav'st  me,  though  unfelt,  a  kiss  ; 
Perhaps  a  tear,  if  souls  can  weep  in  bliss,  — 
Ah,  that  maternal  smile!  it  answers — Yes. 


84  ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS. 

I  heard  the  bell  tolled  on  thy  burial  day, 
I  saw  the  hearse  that  bore  thee  slow  away, 
Antl,  turning  from  my  nursery  window,  drew 
A  long,  long  sigh,  and  wept  a  last  adieu  ! 
But  was  it  such?     It  was.     Where  thou  art  gone 
Adieus  and  farewells  are  a  sound  unknown. 
May  I  but  meet  thee  on  that  peaceful  shore. 
The  parting  word  shall  pass  my  lips  no  more ! 

Thy  maidens,  grieved  themselves  at  my  concern, 

Oft  gave  me  promise  of  thy  quick  return  : 

What  ardently  I  wished,  I  long  believed, 

And  disappointed  still,  was  still  deceived ; 

By  expectation  every  day  beguiled. 

Dupe  of  to-morrow,  even  from  a  child  ! 

Thus  many  a  sad  to-morrow  came  and  went, 

Till,  all  my  stock  of  infant  sorrow  spent, 

I  learned  at  last,  submission  to  my  lot ; 

But,  though  I  less  deplored  thee,  ne'er  forgot. 

COWPER. 


PAUL  CLIFFORD'S  DEFENCE, 

My  Lord,  I  have  little  to  say,  and  I  may  at  once  relieve 
tlie  anxiety  of  my  counsel,  who  now  looks  wistfully  up  to 
me,  and  add,  that  that  little  will  scarcely  embrace  the  object 
of  defence.  Why  should  I  defend  myself?  Why  slionld  I 
endeavor  to  protract  a  life  that  a  few  days,  more  or  less,  will 
terminate,  according  to  the  ordinary  calculations  of  chance? 
Such  as  it  is,  and  has  been,  my  life  is  vowed  to  the  Law, 
and  the  Law  will  have  the  offering.  Could  I  escape  from 
this  indictment,  I  know  that  seven  others  await  me,  and  that 
by  one  or  the  other  of  these  my  conviction  and  my  sentence 
must  come.  Life  may  be  sweet  to  all  of  us,  my  Lord;  and 
were  it  possible  that  mine  could  be  spared  yet  a  vvhile,.that 
continued  life  might  make  a  better  atonement  for  past  actions 


ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS.  85 

than  a  death  which,  abrupt  and  premature,  calls  for  repent 
ancc  while  it  forbids  redress. 

But,  when  the  dark  side  of  things  is  our  only  choice,  it  is 
useless  to  regard  the  bright ;  idle  to  fix  our  eyes  upon  life, 
when  death  is  at  hand  ;  useless  to  speak  of  contrition,  when 
we  are  denied  its  proof.  It  is  the  usual  policy  of  prisoners 
in  my  situation,  to  address  the  feelings,  and  flatter  the  preju« 
dices,  of  the  jury  ;  to  descant  on  the  excellence  of  our  laws, 
while  they  endeavor  to  disarm  them  ;  to  praise  justice,  yet 
demand  mercy  ;  to  talk  of  expecting  acquittal,  yet  boast  of 
submitting  without  a  murmur  to  condemnation.  For  me,  to 
whom  all  earthly  interests  are  dead,  this  policy  is  idle  and 
superfluous.  I  hesitate  not  to  tell  you,  my  Lord  Judge,  —  to 
proclaim  to  you,  gentlemen  of  the  jury,  that  the  laws  which 
I  have  broken  through  my  life,  I  despise  in  death.  Your 
laws  are  but  of  two  classes :  the  one  makes  criminals,  the 
other  punishes  them.  I  have  suffered  by  the  one  —  I  am 
about  to  perish  by  the  other. 

My  Lord,  it  was  the  turn  of  a  straw  which  made  me  what 
1  am.  Four  years  ago  I  was  sent  to  the  House  of  Correc- 
tion for  an  offence  which  I  did  not  commit ;  I  went  thither  a 
boy  who  had  never  infringed  a  single  law, — I  came  forth  in 
a  few  weeks  a  man  who  was  prepared  to  break  all  laws  ! 
Whence  was  this  change?  —  was  it  my  fault,  or  that  of  my 
condemners?  You  had  first  wronged  me  by  a  punishment 
wliich  I  did  not  deserve,  —  you  wronged  me  yet  more  deeply 
when  (even  had  I  been  guilty  of  the  first  offence)  I  was  sen- 
tenced to  herd  with  hardened  offenders  and  graduates  in 
vice  and  vice's  methods  of  support.  The  laws  themselves 
caused  me  to  break  the  laws  !  first,  by  implanting  within  me 
the  goading  sense  of  injustice  ;  secondly,  by  submitting  me 
to  the  corruption  of  example.  Thus,  I  repeat,  —  and  I  trust 
my  words  will  sink  solemnly  into  the  hearts  of  all  present, — 
your  legislation  made  me  what  I  am  !  and  it  now  destroys 
me^  as  it  has  destroyed  thousands^  for  being  what  it  made 
me  I  But  for  this,  the  first  aggression  on  me,  1  might  have 
been  what  the  world  terms  honest,  —  I  might  have  progressrd 


86  ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS. 

to  old  age  and  a  peaceful  grave,  through  the  harmless  cheat 
eries  of  trade,  or  the  honored  falsehoods  of  a  profession. 
Nay,  I  might  have  supported  the  laws  which  I  have  now 
braved  ;  like  the  counsel  opposed  to  me,  I  might  have  grown 
sleek  on  the  vices  of  others,  and  advanced  to  honor  by  my 
ingenuity  in  hanging  my  fellow-creatures !  The  canting 
and  prejudging  part  of  the  press  has  aftected  to  set  before 
you  the  merits  of  "  honest  ability,"  or  "  laborious  trade,"  in 
opposition  to  my  offences.  What,  I  bseech  you,. are  the 
props  of  your  "•  honest"  exertion,  —  the  profits  of  ^'  trade  "  ? 
Are  there  no  bribes  to  menials?  Is  there  no  adulteration  of 
goods?  Are  the  rich  never  duped  in  the  price  they  pay, — 
are  the  poor  never  wronged  in  the  quality  they  receive?  Is 
there  honesty  in  the  bread  you  eat,  in  a  single  necessity 
which  clothes,  or  feeds,  or  warms  you?  Let  those  whom 
the  law  protects  consider  it  a  protector:  when  did  it  ever 
protect  mef  When  did  it  ever  protect  the  poor  man?  The 
government  of  a  state,  the  institutions  of  law,  profess  to  pro- 
vide for  all  those  who  ''  obey."  Mark  !  a  man  hungers  !  — 
do  you  feed  him?  He  is  naked  !  —  do  you  clothe  him?  If 
not,  you  break  your  covenant,  you  drive  him  back  to  the  first 
law  of  Nature,  and  you  hang  him,  not  because  he  is  guilty, 
but  because  you  have  left  him  naked  and  starving ! 

One  thing  only  I  will  add,  and  that  not  to  move  your 
mercy.  No,  nor  to  invest  my  fate  with  an  idle  and  momen- 
tary interest ;  but  because  there  are  some  persons  in  this 
world  who  have  not  known  me  as  the  criminal  who  stands 
before  you,  and  whom  the  tidings  of  my  fate  may  hereaftci 
reach;  and  I  would  not  have  those  persons  view  me  in 
blacker  colors  than  I  deserve.  Among  all  the  rumors,  gcd- 
tlemen,  that  have  reached  you,  —  through  all  the  tales  an  J 
fables  kindled  from  my  unhappy  notoriety,  and  my  approach- 
ing doom,  I  put  it  to  you,  if  you  have  heard  that  I  have  com 
niitted  one  sanguinary  action,  or  one  ruinous  and  deliberat  > 
fraud?  You  have  heard  that  I  have  lived  by  the  plunder  of 
the  rich,  —  I  do  not  deny  the  charge.  From  the  grinding  of 
the  poor,  the  habitual  overreaching,  or  the  systematic  pilfer 


ADVANCED    READINGS   AND    RECITATIONS.  87 

ing  of  my  neighbors,  my  conscience  is  as  free  as  it  is  from 
the  charge  of  cruelty  and  bloodshed.  Those  errors  I  leave 
to  honest  mediocrity  or  virtuous  exertion!  You  may,  per- 
haps, find  too,  that  my  life  has  not  passed  through  a  CiMver 
dT  outrage  without  scattering  some  few  benefits  on  the  road. 
In  destroying  me,  it  is  true  that  you  will  have  tiie  conso- 
lation to  think,  that  among  the  benefits  you  derive  from  my 
sentence  will  be  the  salutary  encouragement  you  give  to 
other  offenders,  to  offend  to  the  last  degree,  and  to  divest 
outrage  of  no  single  aggravation  !  But  if  this  does  not  seem 
to  you  any  very  powerful  inducement,  you  may  pause  before 
you  cut  off*  from  all  amendment  a  man  who  seems  neither 
wholly  hardened  nor  utterly  beyond  atonement. 

My  Lord,  my  counsel  would  have  wished  to  summon  wit- 
nesses—  some  to  bear  testimony  to  redeeming  points  in  my 
own  ciiaracter,  others  to  invalidate  the  oath  of  the  witness 
against  me;  a  man  whom  I  saved  from  destruction,  in  order 
that  he  might  destroy  me.  I  do  not  think  either  necessary. 
The  public  press  has  already  said  of  me  what  little  good 
does  not  shock  the  truth  ;  and  had  I  not  possessed  something 
of  those  qualities  which  society  does  not  disesteem,  you 
would  not  have  beheld  me  here  at  this  hour  !  If  I  had  saved 
myself  as  well  as  my  companions,  I  should  have  left  this 
countiy,  perhaps  forever,  and  commenced  a  very  different 
career  abroad.  I  committed  offences  ;  I  eluded  you.  I  com- 
mitted what,  in  my  case,  was  an  act  of  duty  ;  I  am  seized, 
and  1  perish.  But  the  weakness  of  my  body  destroys  me, 
not  the  strength  of  your  malice.  Had  I  —  had  I  but  my 
wonted  health,  my  wonted  command  over  these  limbs,  and 
ihese  veins,  I  would  have  asked  no  friend,  no  ally,  to  lavor 
my  escape.  I  tell  you,  engines  and  guardians  of  the  law, 
tiuit  I.  would  have  mocked  your  chains,  and  defied  your 
walls,  as  ye  know  that  I  have  mocked  and  defied  them  be- 
fore. But  my  blood  creeps  now  only  in  drops  through  its 
courses,  and  the  lieart  that  I  had  of  old  stirs  feebly  and 
heavily  within  me. 

Leaving,  then,  my  own  character  to  the  ordeal  of  report, 


bo  ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS. 

I  cannot,  perhaps,  do  better  than  leave  to  the  same  criterion 
that  of  the  witness  against  me.  I  will  candidly  own,  that 
under  other  circumstances  it  might  have  been  otherwise.  I 
will  candidly  avow,  that  I  might  have  then  used  such  means 
as  your  law  awards  me  to  procure  an  acquittal,  and  to  pro- 
long my  existence — though  in  a  new  scene  !  As  it  is,  what 
matters  the  cause  in  which  I  receive  my  sentence?  Nay,  it 
is  even  better  to  suffer  by  the  first,  than  to  linger  to  the  hist 
It  is  some  consolation  not  again  to  stand  where  I  now  stand  . 
to  go  through  the  humbling  solemnities  which  I  have  this 
day  endured  ;  to  see  the  smile  of  some,  and  retort  the  frtnvii 
of  others ;  to  wrestle  with  the  anxiety  of  the  heart,  and  t(^ 
depend  on  the  caprice  of  the  excited  nerves.  It  is  some- 
thing to  feel  one  part  of  the  drama  of  disgrace  is  over,  and 
that  I  may  wait  unmolested  in  my  den,  until,  for  one  time 
only,  I  am  again  the  butt  of  the  unthinking,  and  the  monster 
of  the  crowd. 

My  Lord,  I  have  now  done.  To  you,  whom  the  haw 
deems  the  prisoner's  counsel,  —  to  you,  gentlemen  of  the 
jury,  to  whom  it  has  delegated  his  fate,  I  leave  the  chances 
of  my  life.  Bulwer. 


THE  VILLAGE  PREACHER, 

Near  yonder  copse  where  once  the  garden  smiled, 
And  still  where  many  a  garden  flower  grows  wild, 
There,  where  a  few  torn  shrubs  the  place  disclose 
The  village  preacher's  modest  mansion  rose. 
A  man  he  was  to  all  the  country  dear. 
And  passing  rich  with  forty  pounds  a  year. 

Remote  from  towns  he  ran  his  godly  race, 

Nor  e*er  had  changed,  or  wished  to  change,  his  place; 

Unskilful  he  to  fawn,  or  seek  for  power. 

By  doctrines  fashioned  to  the  varying  hour; 

Far  other  aims  his  heart  had  learned  to  prize. 

More  bent  to  raise  the  wretched  than  to  rise. 


ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS.  89 

His  house  was  known  to  all  the  vagrant  train  ; 
He  chid  their  wanderings,  but  relieved  their  pain  ; 
The  long-remembered  beggar  was  his  guest, 
Whose  beard  descending  swept  his  aged  breast ; 
I'he  ruined  spendthrift,  now  no  longer  proud. 
Claimed  kindred  there,  and  had  his  claims  allowed; 
The  broken  soldier,  kindly  bade  to  stay, 
Sat  by  his  fire  and  talked  the  night  away,  — 
Wept  o'er  his  wounds,  or,  tales  of  sorrow  done, 
Shouldered  his  crutch  and  showed  how  fields  were  won. 

Pleased  with  his  guests  the  good  man  learned  to  glow, 
And  quite  forgot  their  vices  in  their  woe  ; 
Careless  their  merits  or  their  faults  to  scan, 
His  pity  gave  ere  charity  began. 

Thus  to  relieve  the  wretched  was  his  pride, 

And  e'en  his  failings  leaned  to  virtue's  side  ; 

But,  in  his  duty  prompt  at  every  call, 

He  watched  and  wept,  he  prayed  and  felt  for  all : 

And,  as  a  bird  each  fond  endearment  tries 

To  tempt  its  new-fledged  offspring  to  the  skies. 

He  tried  each  art,  reproved  each  dull  delay. 

Allured  to  brighter  worlds,  and  led  the  way. 

Beside  the  bed  where  parting  life  was  laid, 
And  sorrow,  guilt,  and  pain  by  turns  dismayed, 
The  reverend  champion  stood.     At  his  control 
Despair  and  anguish  fled  the  struggling  soul ; 
Comfort  came  down,  the  trembling  wretch  to  raise, 
And  his  last  faltering  accents  whispered  praise. 

At  church,  with  meek  and  unaffected  grace, 

His  looks  adorned  the  venerable  place  ; 

Truth  from  his  lips  prevailed  with  double  sway, 

And  fools  who  came  to  scoff  remained  to  pray. 

The  service  past,  around  the  pious  man 

With  ready  zeal  each  honest  rustic  ran  ; 

E'en  children  followed,  with  endearing  wile, 

And  plucked  his  gown,  to  share  the  good  man's  smile. 


90  ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS* 

His  ready  smile  a  parent's  warmth  expressed  ; 
Their  welfare  pleased  him,  and  their  cares  distressed  ; 
To  them  his  heart,  his  love,  his  griefs  were  given, 
But  all  his  serious  thoughts  had  rest  in  heaven. 

As  some  tall  cliff  that  lifts  its  awful  form, 
Swells  from  the  vale,  and  midway  leaves  the  storm. 
Though  round  its  breast  the  rolling  clouds  are  spread. 
Eternal  sunshine  settles  on  its  head. 

Goldsmith. 


TIVO    VIEWS  OF  CHRISTMAS. 

Scrooge  and  his  Nephew.      Scene.  —T\\&  Counting-Room  of  Scrooge. 

Nephew.     A  merry  Christmas,  uncle  !     God  save  you  ! 

Scrooge.     Bah  !  humbug  ! 

Nep/i,  Christmas  a  humbug,  uncle !  You  don't  mean 
that,  I  am  sure.? 

Scrooge.  I  do.  Out  upon  merry  Christmas !  What's 
Christmas  time  to  you  but  a  time  for  paying  bills  without 
money  ;  a  time  for  finding  yourself  a  year  older,  and  not  an 
hour  richer;  a  time  for  balancing  your  books,  and  having 
every  item  in  'em  through  a  round  dozen  of  months  pre- 
sented dead  against  you?  If  I  had  my  will,  every  idiot  who 
goes  about  with  ''Merry  Christmas"  on  his  lips  should  be 
boiled  with  his  own  pudding,  and  buried  with  a  stake  of 
holly  through  his  heart.     He  should  ! 

Neph.     Uncle ! 

Scrooge.  Nephew,  keep  Christmas  time  hi  your  own 
way,  and  let  me  keep  it  in  mine. 

Neph.     Keep  it !     But  you  don't  keep  it ! 

Scrooge.  Let  me  leave  it  alone,  then.  Much  good  may 
it  do  you  !     Much  good  it  has  ever  done  you  ! 

Neph.  There  are  many  good  things  from  which  I  might 
have  derived  good,  by  which  I  have  not  profited,  I  dare  say, 


ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS.  91 

Christmas  among  the  rest.  But  I  am  sure  I  have  always 
thought  of  Christmas  time,  when  it  has  come  round, — 
apart  from  the  veneration  due  to  its  sacred  origin,  if  any- 
thing belonging  to  it  can  be  apart  from  that,  —  as  a  good 
time;  a  kind,  forgiving,  charitable,  pleasant  time;  the  only 
time  I  know  of,  in  the  long  calendar  of  the  year,  when  men 
and  women  seem  by  one  consent  to  open  their  shut  hearts 
freely,  and  to  think  of  people  below  them  as  if  they  really 
were  fellow-travellers  to  tho  grave,  and  not  another  race  of 
creatures  bound  on  other  journeys.  And  therefore,  uncle, 
thougli  it  has  never  put  a  scrap  of  gold  or  silver  in  my 
pocket,  I  believe  that  it  has  done  me  good,  and  will  do  me 
good  :    and  I  say,  God  bless  it !  \v 

Scrooge.  You*re  quite  a  powerful  speaker,  sir  ;  I  wonder 
you  don't  go  into  Parliament. 

Neph.  Don't  be  angry,  uncle.  Come !  Dine  with  us 
to-morrow. 

Scrooge.     Til  see  you  hanged  first. 

Neph.     But  why,  uncle?     Why? 

Scrooge.     Why  did  you  get  married? 

Neph.     Because  I  fell  in  love. 

Scrooge.     Because   you    fell  in  love  !  —  Good-afternoon  ! 

Neph.  Nay,  uncle,  but  you  never  came  to  see  me  before 
that  happened.  Why  give  it  as  a  reason  for  not  coming 
now? 

Scrooge.     Good-afternoon  ! 

Neph.  I  want  nothing  from  you  ;  I  ask  nothing  of  you  ; 
why  cannot  we  be  friends? 

Scrooge.     Good-afternoon ! 

Neph.  I  am  sorry,  with  all  my  heart,  to  find  you  so 
resolute.  We  have  never  had  any  quarrel  to  which  I  have 
been  a  party.  But  I  have  made  the  trial  in  homage  to 
Christmas,  and  FU  keep  my  Christmas  humor  to  the  last. 
So,  A  merry  Christmas,  uncle  ! 

Scrooge.     Good-afternoon ! 

Neph.     And  A  liappy  New^-Year  ! 

Scrooge.     Good-afternoon !  Dickf>ns 


92  ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS* 


AN  ORDER  FOR  A    PICTURE. 

O  GOOD  painter,  tell  me  true, 

Has  your  hand  the  cunning  to  draw 
Shapes  of  things  that  you  never  saw? 

Ay?     Well,  here  is  an  order  for  you. 

Woods  and  cornfields,  a  little  brown, — 
The  picture  must  not  be  over-bright, 
Yet  all  in  the  golden  and  gracious  light 

Of  a  cloud,  when  the  summer  sun  is  down. 
Alway  and  alway,  night  and  morn, 
Woods  upon  woods,  with  fields  of  corn 
Lying  between  them,  not  quite  sere, 

And  not  in  the  full,  thick,  leafy  bloom, 

When  the  wind  can  hardly  find  breathing-room 
Under  their  tassels  ;  —  cattle  near, 

Biting  shorter  the  short,  green  grass ; 

And  a  hedge  of  sumach  and  sassafras. 

With  bluebirds  twittering  all  around, — 

(Ah,  good  painter,  you  can't  paint  sound  !) 
These,  and  the  house  where  I  was  born, 

Low  and  little,  and  black  and  old. 

With  children,  many  as  it  can  hold. 

All  at  the  windows,  open  wide,  — 

Heads  and  shoulders  clear  outside, 

And  fair  young  faces  all  ablush  : 

Perhaps  you  may  have  seen,  some  day, 
Roses  crowding  the  self-same  way, 

Out  of  a  wilding,  wayside  bush. 

Listen  closer.     When  you4iave  done 

With  woods  and  cornfields  and  grazing  herds, 
A  lady,  the  loveliest  ever  the  sun 


ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS.  93 

Looked  down  upon,  you  must  paint  for  me  ; 
Oh,  if  I  only  could  make  you  see 

The  clear  blue  eyes,  the  tender  smile, 
The  sovereign  sweetness,  the  gentle  grace, 
The  woman's  soul,  and  the  angel's  face, 

That  are  beaming  on  me  all  the  while, 

I  need  not  speak  these  foolish  words : 

Yet  one  word  tells  you  all  I  would  say, 

She  is  my  mother :  you  will  agree 

That  all  the  rest  may  be  thrown  away. 

Two  little  urchins  at  her  knee 
You  must  paint,  sir ;    one  like  me. 
The  other  with  a  clearer  brow, 

And  the  light  of  his  adventurous  eyes 

Flashing  with  boldest  enterprise  : 
At  ten  years  old  he  went  to  sea,  — 

God  knoweth  if  he  be  living  now ; 

He  sailed  in  the  good  ship  '*  Commodore,*'—^ 
Nobody  ever  crossed  her  track 
To  bring  us  news,  and  she  never  came  back. 

Ah,  'tis  twenty  long  years  and  more 
Since  that  old  ship  went  out  of  the  bay 

With  my  great-hearted  brother  on  her  deck : 

I  watched  him  till  he  shrank  to  a  speck. 
And  his  face  was  toward  me  all  the  way. 
Bright  his  hair  was,  a  golden  brown. 

The  time  we  stood  at  our  mother's  knee  2 
That  beauteous  head,  if  it  did  go  down, 

Carried  sunshine  into  the  sea ! 

Out  in  the  fields,  one  summer  night, 

We  were  together,  half  afraid 

Of  the  corn-leaves'  rustling,  and  of  the  shade 
Of  the  high  hills,  stretching  so  still  and  far, — 
Loitering  till  after  the  low  little  light 

Of  the  candle  slione  through  the  open  door, 


94  ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS. 

And  over  the  haystack's  pointed  top, 
All  of  a  tremble,  and  ready  to  drop. 

The  first  half-hour,  the  great  yellow  star, 

That  we,  with  staring,  ignorant  eyes. 
Had  often  and  often  watched  to  see 

Propped  and  held  in  its  place  in  the  skies 
By  the  fork  of  a  tall  red  mulberry  tree, 

Which  close  in  the  edge  of  our  flax-field  grew,  — 
Dead  at  the  top,  — just  one  branch  full 
Of  leaves,  notched  round,  and  lined  with  wool. 

From  which  it  tenderly  shook  the  dew 
Over  our  heads,  when  we  came  to  play 
In  its  handbreadth  of  shadow,  day  after  day. 

Afraid  to  go  home,  sir ;  for  one  of  us  bore 
A  nest  full  of  speckled  and  thin-shelled  eggs ; 
The  other,  a  bird,  held  fast  by  the  legs. 
Not  so  big  as  a  straw  of  wheat : 
The  berries  we  gave  her  she  wouldn't  eat, 
But  cried  and  cried,  till  we  held  her  bill. 
So  slim  and  shining,  to  keep  her  still. 

At  last  we  stood  at  our  mother's  knee. 

Do  you  think,  sir,  if  you  try. 

You  can  paint  the  look  of  a  lie? 

If  you  can,  pray  have  the  grace 

To  put  it  solely  in  the  face 
Of  the  urchin  that  is  likest  me : 

I  think  'twas  solely  mine,  indeed : 

But  that's  no  matter ;  —  paint  it  so  : 

The  eyes  of  our  mother  —  (take  good  heed)  — 
Looking  not  on  the  nestful  of  eggs, 
Nor  the  fluttering  bird,  held  so  fast  by  the  legs. 
But  straight  through  our  faces  down  to  our  lies. 
And  oh,  with  such  injured,  reproachful  surprise ! 

I  felt  my  heart  bleed  where  that  glance  went,  as  though 

A  sharp  blade  struck  through  it.     You,  sir,  know 
That  you  on  the  canvas  are  to  repeat 
Things  that  are  fairest,  things  most  sweet, — 


ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS.  95 

Woods  and  cornfields  and  mulberry  tree  ; 

The  mother ;  the  lads,  with  then'  bird,  at  her  knee  i 

But,  oh,  that  look  of  reproachful  woe ! 
High  as  the  heavens  your  name  FU  shout, 
If  you  paint  me  the  picture,  and  leave  that  out. 

Alice  Gary. 


WILLIAM   TELL   AMONG    THE   MOUNTAINS 

Ye  crags  and  peaks,  I'm  with  you  once  again ! 
I  hold  to  you  the  hands  you  first  beheld,  — 
To  show  they  still  are  free  !     Methinks  I  hear 
A  spirit  in  your  echoes  answer  me. 
And  bid  your  tenant  welcome  home  again.  — 

0  sacred  forms,  how  fair,  how  proud  you  look! 
How  high  you  lift  your  heads  into  tlie  sky  ! 
How  huge  you  are  !  how  mighty,  and  how  free  ! 

Ye  are  the  things  that  tower,  that  shine  —  whose  smile 
Makes  glad,  whose  frown  is  terrible  ;  whose  forms, 
Robed  or  unrobed,  do  all  the  impress  wear 
Of  awe  divine  !     Ye  guards  of  liberty, 
Fm  with  you  once  again  !     I  call  to  you 
With  all  my  voice  !     I  hold  my  hands  to  you, 
To  show  they  still  are  free.     I  rush  to  you 
As  though  I  could  embrace  you  ! 

Scaling  yonder  peak, 

1  saw  an  eagle  wheeling,  near  its  brow, 
O'er  the  abyss.     His  broad  expanded  wings 
Lay  calm  and  motionless  upon  the  air. 

As  if  he  floated  there  without  their  aid, 

By  the  sole  act  of  his  unlorded  will. 

That  buoyed  him  proudly  up  !     Instinctively 

I  bent  my  bow  ;  yet  wheeled  he,  heeding  not 

The  death  that  threatened  him  !     I  could  not  shoot! 

'T  was  liberty  !     I  turned  my  bow  aside. 

And  let  him  soar  away. 

Sheridan  Kxowles. 


96  ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS. 


TELLS  APOSTROPHE   TO  LIBERTY. 

Once  more  I  breathe  the  mountain  air ;  once  more 

I  tread  my  own  free  hills  !     My  lofty  soul 

Throws  all  its  fetters  oft';  in  its  proud  flight, 

'Tis  like  the  new-fledged  eaglet,  whose  strong  wing 

Soars  to  the  sun  it  long  has  gazed  upon 

With  eye  undazzled.     Oh,  ye  mighty  race 

That  stand  like  frowning  giants,  fixed  to  guard 

My  own  proud  land  !  why  did  ye  not  hurl  down 

The  thundering  avalanche,  when  at  your  feet 

The  base  usurper  stood  ?     A  touch,  a  breath, 

Nay,  even  the  breath  of  prayer,  ere  now,  has  brought 

Destruction  on  the  hunter's  head  ;  and  yet 

The  tyrant  passed  in  safety.     God  of  heaven! 

Where  slept  thy  thunderbolts? 

O  Liberty ! 
Thou  choicest  gift  of  Heaven,  and  wanting  which 
Life  is  as  nothing ;  hast  thou  then  forgot 
Thy  native  home?     Must  the  feet  of  slaves 
Pollute  this  glorious  scene?     It  cannot  be. 
Even  as  the  smile  of  Heaven  can  pierce  the  depths 
Of  these  dark  caves,  and  bid  the  wild  flowers  bloom 
In  spots  where  man  has  never  dared  to  tread ; 
So  thy  sweet  influence  still  is  seen  amid 
These  beatling  cliffs.     Some  hearts  still  beat  for  thee, 
And  bow  alone  to  Heaven ;  thy  spirit  lives. 
Ay,  —  and  shall  live,  when  even  the  very  name 
Of  tyrant  is  forgot. 

Lo  !  while  I  gaze 
Upon  the  mist  that  wreathes  yon  mountain's  brow, 
The  sunbeam  touches  it,  and  it  becomes 
A  crown  of  glory  on  his  hoary  head  ; 
Oh,  is  not  this  a  presage  of  the  dawn 


ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS.  97 

Of  freedom  o'er  the  world?  Hear  me,  then,  bright 
And  beaming  Heaven?  while  kneeling  thus,  I  vow 
To  live  for  Freedom,  or  with  her  to  die  ! 

Oh,  widi  what  pride  I  used 
To  walk  these  hills,  and  look  up  to  my  God 
And  bless  him  that  it  was  so  !      It  was  free, — 
From  end  to  end,  from  cliti' to  lake  'twas  free, — 
Free  as  our  torrents  are,  that  leap  our  rocks. 
And  plough  our  valleys,  without  asking  leave; 
Or  as  our  peaks,  that  wear  their  caps  of  snow, 
In  very  presence  of  the  regal  sun  ! 
How  happy  was  I  in  it  then  !    I  loved 
Its  very  storms !     Yes,  I  have  sat  and  eyed 
The  thunder  breaking  from  His  cloud,  and  smiled 
To  see  Him  shake  His  lightnings  o'er  my  head, 
And  think  I  had  no  master  save  His  own  ! 

Ye  know  the  jutting  cliti',  round  which  a  track 

Up  hither  winds,  whose  base  is  but  the  brow 

To  such  another  one,  with  scanty  room 

For  two  abreast  to  pass  ?     O'crtaken  there 

By  the  mountain  blast,  I've  laid  me  flat  along, 

And  while  gust  followed  gust  more  furiously, 

As  if  to  sweep  me  o'er  the  horrid  brink. 

And  I  have  thought  of  other  lands,  whose  storms 

Are  summer  flaws  to  those  of  mine,  and  just 

Have  wished  me  there,  —  the  thought  that  mine  was  free, 

Has  checked  that  wish,  and  T  have  raised  my  head, 

And  cried  in  thraldom  to  that  furious  wind, 

Blow  on !     This  is  the  Land  of  Liberty. 

Sheridan  Knowles, 

1 


I 


98  ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS. 


AMERICAN  LABORERS. 

The  gentleman,  sir,  has  misconceived  the  spirit  and  ten- 
dency of  northern  institutions.  He  is  ignorant  of  northern 
character.  He  has  forgotten  the  history  of  his  country. 
Preach  insurrection  to  the  northern  hiborers  !  Who  are  the 
northern  laborers?  The  history  of  your  country  is  their 
history.  The  renown  of  your  country  is  their  renown.  The 
brightness  of  their  doings  is  emblazoned  on  its  every  page. 
Blot  from  your  annals  the  words  and  the  doings  of  northern 
laborers,  and  the  history  of  your  country  presents  but  a  uni- 
versal blank. 

Sir,  who  was  he  that  disarmed  the  Thunderer ;  wrested 
from  his  grasp  the  bolts  of  Jove  ;  calmed  the  troubled  ocean  ; 
became  the  central  sun  of  the  philosophical  system  of  his 
age,  shedding  his  brightness  and  effulgence  on  the  whole 
civilized  world  ;  whom  the  great  and  mighty  of  the  earth 
delighted  to  honor  ;  who  participated  in  the  achievement  of 
your  independence,  }:rominently  assisted  in  moulding  your 
free  institutions,  and  the  beneficial  effects  of  whose  wisdom 
will  be  felt  to  the  last  moment  of  "  recorded  time?"  Who, 
sir,  I  ask,  was  he?  A  northern  laborer,  —  a  Yankee  tallow- 
chandler's  son,  —  a  printer's  runaway  boy  ! 

And  who,  let  me  ask  the  honorable  gentleman,  who  was 
he  that,  in  the  days  of  our  Revolution,  led  forth  a  northern 
army,  —  yes,  an  army  of  northern  laborers,  —  and  aided  the 
chivalry  of  South  Carolina  in  their  defence  against  Britisli 
aggression,  drove  the  spoilers  from  their  firesides,  and  re- 
deemed her  fair  fields  from  foreign  invaders?  Who  was  he? 
A  northern  laborer,  a  Rhode  Island  blacksmith,  —  the  gallant 
General  Green,  —  who  left  his  hammer  and  his  forge,  and 
went  forth  conquering  and  to  conquer  in  the  battle  for  our 
independence!  And  will  you  preach  insurrection  to  men 
like  these? 

Sir,  our  country  is  full  of  the  achievements  of  northern 
laborers?     Where  is  Concord,  and  Lexington,  and  Prince* 


ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS.  99 

ton,  and  Trenton,  and  Saratoga,  and  Bunker  Hill,  but  in  the 
north?  And  what,  sir,  has  shed  an  imperishable  renown  on 
tlie  never-dying  names  of  those  hallowed  spots,  but  the  blood 
and  the  struggles,  the  high  daring,  and  patriotism,  and  sub- 
hme  courage,  of  northern  laborers?  The  whole  north  is  an 
everlasting  monument  of  the  freedom,  virtue,  intelligence, 
and  indomitable  independence,  of  northern  laborers  !  Go, 
sir,  go  preach  insurrection  to  men  like  these! 

The  fortitude  of  the  men  of  the  north,  under  intense  suf- 
fering for  liberty's  sake,  has  been  almost  godlike  !  History 
has  so  recorded  it.  Who  comprised  the  gallant  army,  with- 
out food,  without  pay,  shelterless,  shoeless,  penniless,  and 
almost  naked,  in  that  dreadful  winter,  —  the  midnight  of  our 
Revolution,  —  whose  wanderings  could  be  traced  by  their 
blood-tracks  in  the  snow  ;  whom  no  arts  could  seduce,  no 
appeal  lead  astray,  no  sufferings  disaffect ;  but  who,  true  to 
tlieir  country  and  its  holy  cause,  continued  to  fight  the  good 
fight  of  liberty,  until  it  finally  triumphed?  Who,  sir,  were 
tliese  men?  Why,  northern  laborers! — yes,  sir,  northern 
laborers!  Who,  sir,  were  Roger  Sherman  and  —  but  it 
is  idle  to  enumerate.  To  name  the  northern  laborers  who 
have  distinguished  themselves,  and  illustrated  the  history  of 
their  country,  would  require  days  of  the  time  of  this  House. 
Nor  is  it  necessary.  Posterity  will  do  them  justice.  Their 
deeds  have  been  recorded  in  characters  of  fire. 

Naylor. 


A    LEGEND    OF  BREGENZ, 

Girt  round  with  rugged  mountains  the  fair  Lake  Constance 

lies ; 
In  her  blue  heart  reflected,  sliine  back  the  starry  skies: 
And  watching  each  white  cloudlet  float  silently  and  slow, 
You  think  a  piece  of  heaven  lies  on  our  earth  below  ! 


100  ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS. 

Midnight  is   there  :   and  silence  enthroned   in  heaven,  looks 

down 
Upon  her  own  calm  mirror,  upon  a  sleeping  town  : 
For  Bregenz,  that  quaint  city  upon  the  Tyrol  shore. 
Has  stood  above  Lake   Constance,  a  thousand  years  and 

more. 

Her  battlements  and  towers,  upon  their  rocky  steep, 
Have  cast  their  trembling  shadows  for  ages  on  the  deep  ; 
Mountain,  and  lake,  and  valley,  a  sacred  legend  know. 
Of  how  the  town  was  saved  one  night,  three  hundred  years 
,  ago. 

Far  from  her  home  and  kindred,  a  Tyrol  maid  had  fled, 
To  serve  in  the  Swiss  valleys,  and  toil  for  daily  bread ; 
And  every  year  that  fleeted  so  silently  and  fast. 
Seemed  to  bear  farther  from  her  the  memory  of  the  past. 

She  served  kind,  gentle  masters,  nor  asked  for  rest  or  change  ; 
Her  friends  seemed  no  more  new  ones,  their  speech  seemed 

no  more  strange  ; 
And  when  she  led  her  cattle  to  pasture  every  day. 
She  ceased  to  look  and  wonder  on  which  side  Bregenz  lay. 

She  spoke  no  more  of  Bregenz,  with  longing  and  with  tears  ; 
Her  Tyrol  home  seemed  faded  in  a  deep  mist  of  years ; 
She  heeded  not  the  rumors  of  Austrian  war  or  strife  ; 
Each  day  she  rose  contented,  to  the  calm  toils  of  life. 

Yet,  when  her  master's  children  would  clustering  round  her 

stand. 
She  sang  them  the  old  ballads  of  her  own  native  land  ; 
And   when   at   morn    and    evening  she   knelt  before   God's 

throne. 
The  accents  of  her  childhood  rose  to  her  lips  alone. 

And  so  she  dwelt :  the  valley  more  peaceful  year  by  year ; 
When  suddenly  strange  portents  of  some  great  deed  seemed 
near. 


ADVANCED    READINGS.  AND    RECITATIONS..  101 

The  golden  corn  was  bending  upon  its  fragile  stalk, 
While  farmers,  heedless  of  their  fields,  paced  up  and  down 
in  talk. 

The  men  seemed  stern  and  altered,  with  looks  cast  on  the 

ground ; 
With  anxious  faces,  one  by  one,  the  women  gathered  round  ; 
All  talk  of  flax,  or  spinning,  or  work,  was  put  away  ; 
'  The  very  children  seemed  afraid  to  go  alone  to  play. 

One  day,  out  in  the  meadow  with  strangers  from  the  town. 
Some  secret  plan  discussing,  the  men  walked  up  and  down. 
Yet  now   and   then   seemed    watching   a  strange   inicertain 

gleam, 
That  looked  like  lances  'mid  the  trees  that  stood  below  the 

stream. 

At  eve  they  all  assembled,  all  care  and  doubt  were  fled ; 
With  jovial  laugh  they  feasted,  the  board  was  nobly  spread. 
The  elder  of  the  village  rose  up,  his  glass  in  hand, 
And  cried,  ''We  drink  the  downfall  of  an  accursed  land! 

"•  The  night  is  growing  darker,  ere  one  more  day  is  flown, 
Bregenz,  our   foemen's    stronghold,   Bregenz    shall    be    out 

own  ! " 
The  women  shrank  in  terror,  (yet  pride,  too,  had  her  part,) 
But  one  poor  Tyrol  maiden  felt  death  within  her  heart. 

Before  her,  stood  fair  Bregenz,  once  more  her  towers  arose  ; 
What  were  the  friends  beside  her  ?   Only  her  country's  foes  ! 
The  faces  of  her  kinsfolk,  the  days  of  childhood  flown. 
The  echoes  of  her  mountains  reclaimed  her  as  their  own  ! 

Nothing   she   heard   around   her,  (though  shouts  rang  forth 

again,) 
Gone   were   the  green  Swiss  valleys,  the  pasture,   and  the 


102        ,ap,v4n;q?:p  ru^du^gs  and  recitations. 

Before  her  eyes  one  vision,  and  in  her  heart  one  cry, 
That  said,   '^  Go  forth,   save  Bregenz,  and  then  if  need  be, 
die  !  " 

With  trembUng  haste  and  breathless,  v^ith  noiseless  step  she 

sped ; 
Horses  and  weary  cattle  were  standing  in  the  shed  ; 
She  loosed   the  strong  white  charger,  that  fed  from  out  her 

hand, 
She  mounted,  and  she  turned  his  head  toward  her  native 

land. 

Out^ — -out  into  the  darkness  —  faster,  and  still  more  fast; 
The   smooth   grass   flies  behind  her,    the    chestnut  wood  is 

passed  ; 
She  looks  up  ;  clouds  are  heavy  :  why  is  her  steed  so  slow  ?  — 
Scarcely  the  wind  beside  them  can  pass  them  as  they  go. 

''  Faster  !  "  she  cries,  ''  Oh,  faster  !  "  Eleven  the  church-bells 

chime  ; 
''  O  God,''  she  cries,  ''  help  Bregenz,  and  bring  me  there  in 

time  !  " 
But  louder  than  bells'  ringing,  or  lowing  of  the  kine, 
Grows  nearer  in  the  midnight  the  rushing  of  the  Rhine. 

Shall  not  the  roaring  waters  their  headlong  gallop  check  ? 
The  steed  draws  back  in  terror,  she  leans  above  his  neck 
To  watch  the  flowing  darkness,  the  bank  is  high  and  steep  ; 
One  pause  —  he  staggers  forward,  and  plunges  in  the  deep. 

She  strives  to  pierce  the  blackness,  and  looser  throws  the  rein  ; 
llei  steed  must  breast  the  waters  that  dash  above  his  mane.. 
How  gallantly,  how  nobly,  he  struggles  through  the  foam, 
And  see  —  in  the  far  distance,  shine  out  the  lights  of  home! 

Up  the  steep  bank  he  bears  her,  and  now  they  rush  again 
Towards  the  heights  of  Bregenz,  that  tower  above  the  plain. 
Thev  reach  the  gate  of  Bregenz,  just  as  the  midnight  rings, 
And  out  come  serf  and  soldier  to  meet  the  news  she  brings. 


ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS.  103 

Bregenz  is  saved  !    Ere  dayliglu  her  battlements  are  manned  ; 
Defiance  greets  the  army  that  marches  on  the  land. 
And  if  to  deeds  heroic  should  endless  fame  be  paid, 
Bregenz  does  well  to  honor  the  noble  Tyrol  maid. 

Three  hundred  years  are  vanished,  and  yet  upon  the  hill 
An  old  stone  gateway  rises,  to  do  her  honor  still. 
And  there,  when  Bregenz  women  sit  spinning  in  the  shade. 
They  see  in  quaint  old  carving  the  charger  and  the  maid. 

And  when,  to  guard  old  Bregenz,  by  gateway,  street,  and 

tower. 
The  warder  paces  all  night  long,  and  calls  each  passing  hour  ; 
''  Nine,"  "  ten,"  ''  eleven,"  he  cries  aloud,  and  then,  (O  crown 

of  fame !) 

When  midnight  pauses  in  the   skies  he  calls  the  maiden's 

name. 

Adelaide  A.  Proctor. 


BURR   AND   BLENNERHASSETT, 

A  PLAIN  man,  who  knew  nothing  of  the  curious  transmu- 
tations which  the  wit  of  man  can  work,  would  be  very  apt 
to  wonder  by  what  kind  of  legerdemain  Aaron  Burr  had 
contrived  to  shuffle  himself  down  to  the  bottom  of  the  pack, 
as  an  accessory,  and  turn  up  poor  Blennerhassett  as  princi- 
pal, in  this  treason.  Who,  then,  is  Aaron  Burr,  and  what 
the  part  which  he  has  borne  in  this  transaction?  He 
is  its  author,  its  projector,  its  active  executor.  Bold,  ardent, 
restless,  and  aspiring,  his  brain  conceived  it,  his  hand  brought 
it  into  action. 

Who  is  Blennerhassett?  A  native  of  Ireland,  a  man  of 
lettersf  who  fled  from  the  storms  of  his  own  country,  to  find 
quiet  in  ours.     On  his  arrival  in  America,  he  retired,  even 


104  ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS. 

from  the  population  of  tlie  Atlantic  States,  and  sought  quiet 
and  solitude  in  the  bosom  of  our  western  forests.  But  he 
brought  with  him  taste,  and  science,  and  wealth  ;  and  "  lo, 
the  desert  smiled  !  "  Possessing  himself  of  a  beautiful  island 
in  the  Ohio,  he  rears  upon  it  a  palace,  and  decorates  it  with 
every  romantic  embellishment  of  fancy.  A  shrubbery,  that 
Shenstone  might  have  envied,  blooms  around  him.  Music, 
that  might  have  charmed  Calypso  and  her  nymphs,  is  his. 
An  extensive  library  spreads  its  treasures  before  him.  A 
philosophical  apparatus  offers  to  him  all  the  secrets  and 
mysteries  of  nature.  Peace,  tranquility,  and  innocence  shed 
their  mingled  delights  around  him.  And,  to  crown  the  en- 
chantment of  the  scene,  a  wife,  who  is  said  to  be  lovely  even 
beyond  her  sex,  and  graced  with  every  accomplishment  that 
can  render  it  irresistible,  had  blessed  him  with  her  love,  and 
made  him  the  father  of  several  children. 

The  evidence  would  convince  you,  Sir,  tliat  this  is  but  a 
faint  picture  of  the  real  life.  In  the  midst  of  all  this  peace, 
this  innocence,  and  this  tranquility,  —  this  feast  of  the  mind, 
this  pure  banquet  of  the  heart,  —  the  destroyer  comes.  He 
comes  to  turn  this  paradise  into  a  hell.  Yet  the  flowers  do 
not  wither  at  his  approach,  and  no  monitory  shuddering 
through  the  bosom  of  their  unfortunate  possessor  warns  him 
of  the  ruin  that  is  coming  upon  him.  A  stranger  presents 
himself.  It  is  Aaron  Burr.  Introduced  to  their  civilities  by 
the  high  rank  which  he  had  lately  held  in  his  country,  he 
soon  finds  his  way  to  their  hearts,  by  the  dignity  and  ele- 
gance of  his  demeanor,  the  light  and  beauty  of  his  conversa- 
tion, and  the  seductive  and  fascinating  power  of  his  address. 
The  conquest  was  not  difficult.  Innocence  is  ever  simple 
and  credulous.  Conscious  of  no  designs  itself,  it  suspects 
none  in  others.  It  wears  no  guards  before  its  breast.  Every 
door  and  portal  and  avenue  of  the  heart  is  thrown  open,  and 
all  who  choose  it  enter.  Such  was  the  state  of  Eden  when 
the  serpent  entered  its  bowers  ! 

The  prisoner,  in  a  more  engaging  form,  winding  himself 


ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS.  105 

into  the  open  and  unpractised  heart  of  the  unfortunate 
Blennerhassett,  found  but  little  difficulty  in  changing  the 
native  character  of  that  heart,  and  the  objects  of  its  affection. 
Bv  degrees,  he  infuses  into  it  the  poison  of  his  own  ambi- 
tion. He  breathes  into  it  the  fire  of  his  own  courage;  a 
daring  and  desperate  thirst  for  glory  ;  an  ardor,  panting  for 
all  the  storm,  and  bustle,  and  hurricane  of  life.  In  a  short 
time  the  whole  man  is  changed,  and  every  object  of  his 
former  deHght  reHiiquished.  No  more  he  enjoys  the  tranquil 
scene:  it  has  become  flat  and  insipid  to  his  taste.  His 
books  are  abandoned.  His  retort  and  crucible  are  thrown 
aside.  His  shrubbery  blooms  and  breathes  its  fragrance 
upon  the  air  in  vain  —  he  likes  it  not.  His  ear  no  longer 
drinks  the  rich  melody  of  music  ;  it  longs  for  the  trumpet's 
clangor,  and  the  cannon's  roar.  Even  the  prattle  of  his 
babes,  once  so  sweet,  no  longer  aftects  him  ;  and  the  angel- 
smile  of  his  wife,  which  hitherto  touched  his  bosom  with 
ecstasy  so  unspeakable,  is  now  unfelt  and  unseen. 

Greater  objects  have  taken  possession  of  his  soul.  His 
imagination  has  been  dazzled  by  visions  of  diadems,  and 
stars,  and  garters,  and  titles  of  nobility.  He  has  been 
taught  to  burn  with  restless  emulation  at  the  names  of 
great  heroes  and  conquerors,  —  of  Cromwell,  and  Caesar, 
and  Bonaparte.  His  enchanted  island  is  destined  soon  to 
relapse  into  a  wilderness;  and,  in  a  few  months,  we  find 
the  tender  and  beautiful  partner  of  his  bosom,  whom  he 
lately  ''permitted  not  the  winds"  of  summer  "to  visit  too 
roughly," —  we  find  her  shivering,  at  midnight,  on  the 
wintry  banks  of  the  Ohio,  and  mingling  her  tears  with 
the  torrents  that  froze  as  they  fell. 

Yet  this  unfortunate  man,  thus  deluded  from  his  interest 
and  his  happiness, — thus  seduced  from  the  paths  of  inno- 
cence and  peace,  — thus  confounded  in  the  toils  which  were 
deliberately  spread  for  him,  and  overwhelmed  by  the  master- 
ing spirit  and  genius  of  another,  —  this  man,  tiuis  ruined  and 
undone,  and  made  to  play  a  subordinate  part  in  this  grand 
drama  of  ^uilt  and  treason,. —  this  man  is  to  be  called  the 


106  ADVANCED    RF.ADINGS    AND    RECITATIONS. 

principal  offender  ;  while  he,  by  whom  he  was  thus  plunged 
in  misery,  is  comparatively  innocent,  a  mere  accessory  !  Is 
this  reason?  Is  it  law?  Is  it  humanity?  Sir,  neither  the 
human  heart  nor  the  human  understanding  will  bear  a  per- 
version so  monstrous  and  absurd  ;  so  shocking  to  the  soul ; 
so  revolting  to  reason  !  William  Wirt. 


ELEGY  WRITTEN  IN  A    COUNTRY  CHURCHYARD, 

The  curfew  tolls  the  knell  of  parting  day, 
The  lowing  herd  winds  slowly  o'er  the  lea. 

The  ploughman  homeward  plods  his  weary  way, 
And  leaves  the  world  to  darkness  and  to  me. 

Now  fades  the  glimmering  landscape  on  the  sight, 
And  all  the  air  a  solemn  stillness  holds. 

Save  where  the  beetle  wheels  his  droning  flight. 
And  drowsy  tinklings  lull  the  distant  folds ; 

Save  that  from  yonder  ivy-mantled  tower, 
The  moping  owl  does  to  the  moon  complain 

Of  such  as,  wandering  near  her  secret  bower, 
Molest  her  ancient  solitary  reign. 

Beneath  those  rugged  elms,  that  yew-tree's  shade, 
Where  heaves  the  turf  in  many  a  mouldering  heap, 

Each  in  his  narrow  cell  forever  laid, 

The  rude  forefathers  of  the  hamlet  sleep. 

The  breezy  call  of  incense-breathing  morn. 

The  swallow  twittering  from  the  straw-built  shed, 

The  cock's  shrill  clarion,  or  the  echoing  horn, 
No  more  shall  rouse  them  from  their  lowly  bed. 

For  them  no  more  the  blazing  hearth  shall  burn, 
Or  busy  housewife  ply  her  evening  care  ; 

No  children  run  to  lisp  their  sire's  return. 
Or  climb  his  knees  the  envied  kiss  to  share. 


ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS.  107 

Oft  did  the  harvest  to  their  sickle  yield, 

Their  furrow  oft  the  stubborn  glebe  has  broke ; 

How  jocund  did  they  drive  their  team  a-field  ! 

How  bowed  the  woods  beneath  their  sturdy  stroke ! 

Let  not  Ambition  mock  their  useful  toil, 
Their  homely  joys,  and  destiny  obscure ; 

Nor  Grandeur  hear  with  a  disdainful  smile 
The  short  and  simple  annals  of  the  poor. 

The  boast  of  heraldry,  the  pomp  of  power, 
And  all  that  beauty,  all  that  wealth  e'er  gave, 

Await  alike  th'  inevitable  hour,  — 

The  paths  of  glory  lead  but  to  the  grave. 

Nor  you,  ye  proud  !   impute  to  these  the  fault. 
If  memory  o'er  their  tomb  no  trophies  raise. 

Where  through  the  long-drawn  aisle  and  fretted  vault 
The  pealing  anthem  swells  the  note  of  praise. 

Can  storied  urn,  or  animated  bust. 

Back  to  its  mansion  call  the  fleeting  breath? 

Can  Honor's  voice  provoke  the  silent  dust. 
Or  Flattery  soothe  the  dull  cold  ear  of  death? 

Perhaps  in  this  neglected  spot  is  laid 

Some  heart  once  pregnant  with  celestial  fire  ; 

Hands  that  the  rod  of  empire  might  have  swayed. 
Or  waked  to  ecstasy  the  living  lyre. 

But  Knowledge  to  their  eyes  her  ample  page, 
Rich  with  the  spoils  of  time,  did  ne'er  unroll; 

Chill  Penury  repressed  their  noble  rage, 
x\nd  froze  the  genial  current  of  the  soul. 

Full  many  a  gem  of  purest  ray  serene 

The  dark,  unfathomed  caves  of  ocean  bear ; 

Full  many  a  flower  is  born  to  blush  unseen. 
And  waste  its  sweetness  on  the  desert  air. 


108  ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS. 

Some  village  Hampden,  that,  with  dauntless  breast, 
The  little  tyrant  of  his  fields  withstood, 

Some  mute  inglorious  Milton,  here  may  rest, 

Some  Cromwell,  guiltless  of  his  country's  blood. 

Th'  applause  of  listening  senates  to  command. 
The  threats  of  pain  and  ruin  to  despise. 

To  scatter  plenty  o'er  a  smiling  land. 

And  read  their  history  in  a  nation's  eyes, 

Their  lot  forbade  :  nor  circumscribed  alone 

Their  growing  virtues,  but  their  crimes  confined; 

Forbade  to  wade  through  slaughter  to  a  throne, 
And  shut  the  gates  of  mercy  on  mankind  ; 

The  struggling  pangs  of  conscious  truth  to  hide, 
To  quench  the  blushes  of  ingenuous  shame, 

Or  heap  the  shrine  of  luxury  and  pride 
With  incense  kindled  at  the  Muse's  fiame. 

Far  from  the  madding  crowd's  ignoble  strife, 
Their  sober  wishes  never  learned  to  stray  ; 

Along  the  cool,  sequestered  vale  of  life 

They  kept  the  noiseless  tenor  of  their  way. 

Yet  e'en  these  bones  from  insult  to  protect. 
Some  frail  memorial,  still,  erected  nigh, 

With  uncouth  rhymes  and  shapeless  sculpture  dcckedc 
Implores  the  passing  tribute  of  a  sigh. 

Their  names,  their  years,  spelt  by  th'  unlettered  Muse 
The  place  of  fame  and  elegy  supply  ; 

And  many  a  holy  text  around  she  strews, 
That  teach  the  rustic  moralist  to  die. 

For  who,  to  dumb  forgetfulness  a  prey. 

This  pleasing,  anxious  being  e'er  resigned. 

Left  the  warm  precincts  of  the  cheerful  day. 
Nor  cast  one  longing,  lingering  look  behind? 


ADVA^XED    READINGS    AND    KECITATJONS.  109 

On  some  fond  breast  the  parting  soul  relies, 
Some  pious  drops  the  closing  eye  requires; 

E'en  from  the  tomb  the  voice  of  Nature  cries, 
E'en  in  our  ashes  live  their  wonted  fires. 

For  thee,  v^ho,  mindful  of  th'  unhonored  dead, 
Dost  in  these  lines  their  artless  tale  relate  ; 

If  chance,  by  lonely  contemplation  led, 

Some  kindred  spirit  shall  inquire  thy  fate, — 

Haply  some  hoary-headed  swain  may  say, 

''  Oft  have  we  seen  him,  at  the  peep  of  dawn, 

Brushing  with  hasty  steps  the  dews  away. 
To  meet  the  sun  upon  the  upland  lawn. 

''  There  at  the  foot  of  yonder  nodding  beech. 
That  wreathes  its  old  fantastic  roots  so  high. 

His  listless  length  at  noontide  would  he  stretch. 
And  pore  upon  the  brook  that  babbles  by. 

"  Hard  by  yon  wood,  now  smiling  as  in  scorn. 
Muttering  his  wayward  fancies,  he  would  rove ; 

Now  drooping,  woful,  wan,  like  one  forlorn. 

Or  crazed  with  care,  or  crossed  in  hopeless  love. 

"  One  morn  I  missed  him  on  the  'customed  hill. 
Along  the  heath,  and  near  his  favorite  tree  ; 

Another  came  —  nor  yet  beside  the  rill. 
Nor  up  the  lawn,  nor  at  the  wood  was  he ; 

''  The  next,  with  dirges  due,  in  sad  array, 

Slow  through  the  church- way  path  we  saw  him  borne: 

Approach  and  read  (for  thou  canst  read)  the  lay 
Graved  on  the  stone  beneath  yon  aged  thorn.''* 

THE    EPITAPH. 

Here  rests  his  head  upon  the  lap  of  Earth 
A  youth,  to  Fortune  and  to  Fame  unknown ; 

Fair  Science  frowned  not  on  his  humble  birth, 
And  Melancholy  marked  him  for  her  own. 


110  ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS. 

Large  was  his  bounty,  and  his  soul  sincere, 
Heaven  did  a  recompense  as  largely  send : 

He  gave  to  Misery  all  he  had  —  a  tear, 

He  gained  from  Heaven  ('tw^as  all  he  wished)  a  frieml 

No  further  seek  his  merits  to  disclose. 

Or  draw  his  frailties  from  their  dread  abode 

(There  they  alike  in  trembling  hope  repose), 
The  bosom  of  his  Father  and  his  God. 

Thomas  Gray. 


BRUTUS  ON  THE  DEATH   OF  CuESAR. 

Romans,  countrymen,  and  lovers  !  hear  me  for  my  cause  ; 
and  be  silent,  that  you  may  hear.  Believe  me  for  mine 
honor;  and  have  respect  to  mine  honor,  that  you  may 
believe.  Censure  me  in  your  wisdom  ;  and  awake  your 
senses,  that  you  may  the  better  judge.  If  there  be  any  in 
this  assembly, —  any  dear  friend  of  Caesar's,  —  to  him  I  say, 
that  Brutus'  love  to  Caesar  was  not  less  than  his.  If,  then, 
that  friend  demand  why  Brutus  rose  against  Caesar,  this  is 
my  answer :  Not  that  I  loved  Caesar  less,  but  that  I  loved 
Rome  more.  Had  you  rather  Caesar  were  living,  and  die 
all  slaves,  than  that  Caesar  were  dead,  to  live  all  freemen? 
As  Caesar  loved  me,  I  weep  for  him  ;  as  he  was  fortunate,  1 
rejoice  at  it :  as  he  was  valiant,  I  honor  him  ;  but  as  he  w^as 
ambitious,  I  slew  him.  There  are  tears  for  his  love,  joy  for 
his  fortune,  honor  for  his  valor,  and  death  for  his  ambition. 

Who  is  here  so  base,  that  would  be  a  bondman?  If  any, 
speak  ;  for  him  have  I  offended.  Who  is  here  so  rude,  that 
would  not  be  a  Roman?  If  any,  speak;  for  him  have  I 
offended.  Who  is  here  so  vile,  that  will  not  love  his  coun- 
try? If  any,  speak;  for  him  have  I  offended.  I  pause  for 
a  reply. 

None?     Tlien    none   have   I   offended.     I   have   done    no 


ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS.  Ill 

more  to  Csesar  than  you  shall  do  to  Brutus.  The  question 
of  his  death  is  enrolled  in  the  Capitol ;  his  glory  not  ex- 
tenuated, wherein  he  was  worthy  ;  nor  his  offences  enforced, 
for  wliich  he  suffered  death. 

Here  comes  his  body,  mourned  by  Mark  Antony,  who, 
though  he  had  no  hand  in  his  deatli,  shall  receive  the  benefit 
of  his  dying,  —  a  place  in  the  commonwealth  ;  as  which  of 
you  shall  not.?  With  this  I  depart: — That,  as  I  slew  my 
best  lover  for  the  good  of  Rome,  I  have  the  same  dagger  for 
myself,  when  it  shall  please  my  country  to  need  my  death. 

Shakespeare. 


ANTONY'S  ADDRESS   TO    THE  ROMANS.       ' 

Friends,  Romans,  countrymen  !  lend  me  your  ear?  ; 
I  come  to  bury  Caesar,  not  to  praise  him. 
The  evil  that  men  do  lives  after  them*; 
The  good  is  oft  interred  with  their  bones  ; 
So  let  it  be  with  Caesar.     The  noble  Brutus 
Hath  told  you,  Caesar  was  ambitious ; 
Jf  it  were  so,  it  was  a  grievous  fault, 
x^nd  grievously  hath  Caesar  answered  it. 
Here,  under  leave  of  Brutus,  and  the  rest,  — 
For  Brutus  is  an  honorable  man. 
So  are  they  all,  all  honorable  men,  — 
Come  I  to  speak  in  Caesar's  funeral. 

He  was  my  friend,  faithful  and  just  to  me : 
But  Brutus  says  he  was  ambitious. 
And  Brutus  in  an  honorable  man. 
He  hath  brought  many  captives  home  to  Rome, 
Whose  ransoms  did  the  general  coffers  fill : 
Did  this  in  Caesar  seem  ambitious.'^ 
When  that  the  poor  have  cried,  Caesar  hath  wept; 
Ambition  should  be  made  of  sterner  stuff: 


112  ADVANCEH    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS. 

Yet  Brutus  says  he  was  ambitious, 

And  Brutus  is  an  honorable  man. 

You  all  did  see,  that,  on  the  Lupercal, 

I  thrice  presented  him  a  kingly  crown, 

Which  he  did  thrice  refuse.     Was  this  ambition.^ 

Yet  Brutus  says  he  was  ambitious, 

And,  sure,  he  is  an  honorable  man. 

I  speak  not  to  disprove  what  Brutus  spoke, 

But  here  I  am  to  speak  what  I  do  know. 

You  all  did  love  him  once,  not  without  cause : 

What  cause  withholds  you  then  to  mourn  for  him? 

O  judgment,  thou  art  fled  to  brutish  beasts, 

And  men  have  lost  their  reason  !  —  Bear  with  me ; 

My  heart  is  in  the  coffin  there  with  Caesar, 

And  I  must  pause  till  it  come  back  to  me. 

But  yesterday  the  word  of  Caesar  might 
Have  stood  against  the  world  ;  now  lies  he  there, 
And  none  so  poor  to  do  him  reverence. 

0  Masters  !   if  I  were  disposed  to  stir 
V^our  hearts  and  minds  to  mutiny  and  rage, 

1  should  do  Brutus  wrong,  and  Cassius  wrong, 
Who,  you  all  know,  are  honorable  men. 

I  will  not  do  them  wrong ;  I  rather  choose 

To  wrong  the  dead,  to  wrong  myself  and  you, 

Than  I  will  wrong  such  honorable  men. 

But  here's  a  parchment,  with  the  seal  of  CaBsar, 

I  found  it  in  his  closet ;  'tis  his  will. 

Let  but  the  commons  hear  this  testament,  — 

Which,  pardom  me,  I  do  not  mean  to  read,  — 

And  they  would  go  and  kiss  dead  Caesar's  wounds, 

And  dip  their  napkins  in  his  sacred  blood ; 

Yea,  beg  a  hair  of  him  for  memory, 

And,  dying,  mention  it  within  their  wills. 

Bequeathing  it,  as  a  rich  legacy. 

Unto  their  issue. 


ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS.  113 

If  3'ou  have  tears,  prepare  to  shed  them  now. 
YoLi  all  do  know  this  mantle  ;  I  remember 
The  first  time  ever  Caesar  put  it  on  ; 
'Twas  on  a  summer's  evening,  in  his  tent; 
That  day  he  overcame  the  Nervii. — 
Look  !     In  this  place  ran  Cassius'  dagger  through  ; 
See  what  a  rent  the  envious  Casca  made  ; 
Through  this,  the  well-beloved  Brutus  stabbed, 
And,  as  he  plucked  his  cursed  steel  away, 
Mark  how  the  blood  of  Caesar  followed  it, 
As  rushing  out  of  doors,  to  be  resolved 
If  Brutus  so  unkindly  knocked,  or  no  : 
For  Brutus,  as  you  know,  was  Caesar's  angel ; 
Judge,  O,  ye  gods,  how  dearly  Caesar  loved  him  ! 
This  was  the  most  unkindest  cut  of  all  ; 
For  when  the  noble  Caesar  saw  him  stab, 
Ingratitude,  more  strong  than  traitors'  arms, 
Qiiite  vanquished  him.     Then  burst  his  mighty  heart; 
And,  in  his  mantle  muffling  up  his  face. 
Even  at  the  base  of  Pompey's  statue. 
Which  all  the  while  ran  blood,  great  Caesar  fell. 
Oh,  what  a  fall  was  there,  my  countrymen! 
Then  I,  and  you,  and  all  of  us  fell  down, 
Whilst  bloody  treason  flourished  over  us. 
Oh,  now  you  weep  ;   and  I  perceive  you  feel 
The  dint  of  pity  ;  —  these  are  gracious  drops. 
Kind  souls !     What,  weep  you  when  you  but  behold 
Our  Caesar's  vesture  wounded?     Look  ye  here, 
Here  is  himself,  marred,  as  you  see,  by  traitors. 

Good  friends,  sweet  friends,  let  me  not  stir  you  up 
To  such  a  sudden  flood  of  mutiny. 
They  that  have  done  this  deed  are  honorable: 
What  private  griefs  they  have,  alas  !  I  know  not, 
That  made  them  do  it.     They  are  wnse  and  honorable, 
And  will,  no  doubt,  with  reasons  answer  you. 
I  come  not,  friends,  to  steal  away  your  hearts  ; 
7 


114         advance;)  readings  and  recitations. 

I  am  no  orator,  as  Brutus  is; 

But  as  you  know  me  all,  a  plain,  blunt  man, 

That  love  my  friend  ;   and  that  they  know  full  well 

That  gave  me  public  leave  to  speak  of  him. 

For  I  have  neither  wit,  nor  words,  nor  worth, 

Action,  nor  utterance,  nor  the  power  of  speech, 

To  stir  men's  blood  ;  —  I  only  speak  right  on  ; 

I  tell  you  that  which  you  yourselves  do  know  ; 

Show   you    sweet  Caesar's    wounds,   poor,  poor  dumt: 

mouths. 

And  bid  them  speak  for  me.     But  were  I  Brutus, 

And  Brutus  Antony,  there  were  an  Antony 

Would  ruffle  up  your  spirits,  and  put  a  tongue 

In  every  wound  of  Caesar,  that  should  move 

The  stones  of  Rome  to  rise  and  mutiny. 

Shakespeare. 


EXTRACT  FROM  SNOW-BOUND. 

Unwarmed  by  any  sunset  light. 

The  gray  day  darkened  into  night, 

A  night  made  hoary  with  the  swarm 

And  whirl-dance  of  the  blinding  storm, 

As  zigzag  wavering  to  and  fro 

Crossed  and  recrossed  the  winged  snow ; 

And  ere  the  early  bed-time  came 

The  white  drift  piled  the  window  frame. 

And  through  the  glass  the  clothes-line  posts 

Looked  in  like  tall  and  sheeted  ghosts. 

So  all  night  long  the  storm  roared  on, 
And  when  the  second  morning  shone. 
We  looked  upon  a  world  unknown. 
On  nothing  we  could  call  our  own. 


ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS.  115 

Around  the  glistening  wonder  bent 
The  bkie  walls  of  the  firmament, 
No  cloud  above,  no  earth  below,  — 
A  universe  of  Si<:y  and  snow  ! 

The  old  fu miliar  sights  of  ours 

Took  marvellous  sliapes  ;  strange  domes  and  towers 

Rose  up  where  sty  or  corn-crib  stood, 

Or  garden  wall,  or  belt  of  wood  ; 

A  smooth  white  mound  the  brush-pile  showed, 

A  fenceless  drift  what  once  was  road  ; 

The  bridle-post  an  old  man  sat 

With  loose-flung  coat  and  high-cocked  hat ; 

The  well-curb  had  a  Chinese  roof: 

And  even  the  long  sweep,  high  aloof, 

In  its  slant  splendor,  seemed  to  tell 

Of  Pisa's  leaning  miracle. 

A  prompt,  decisive  man,  no  breath 

Our  father  wasted  :  *'  Boys,  a  path  !  " 

Well  pleased,  (for  when  did  farmer  boy 

Count  such  a  summons  less  than  joy?) 

Our  buskins  on  our  feet  we  drew  ; 

With  mittened  hands,  and  caps  drawn  low, 

To  guard  our  necks  and  ears  from  snow, 

We  cut  the  solid  whiteness  through, 

And,  where  the  drift  was  deepest,  made 

A  tunnel  walled  and  overlaid 

With  dazzling  crystal :  we  had  read 

Of  rare  Aladdin's  wondrous  cave. 

And  to  our  own  his  name  we  gave, 

With  many  a  wish  the  luck  were  ours 

To  test  his  lamp's  supernal  powers. 

We  reached  the  barn  with  merry  din, 
And  roused  the  prisoned  brutes  within  ; 
All  day  the  gusty  north-wind  bore 
The  loosening  drift  its  breath  before  j 


116  ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS. 

Low  circling  round  its  southern  zone, 
The  sun  through  dazzling  snow-mist  shone: 
No  church-bell  lent  its  Christian  tone 
To  the  savage  air,  no  social  smoke 
Curled  over  woods  of  snow-hung  oak. 

As  night  drew  on,  and,  from  the  crest 
Of  wooded  knolls  that  ridged  the  west, 
The  sun,  a  snow-blown  traveller,  sank 
From  sight  beneath  the  smothering  bank, 
We  piled,  with  care,  our  nightly  stack 
Of  wood  against  the  chimney  back,  — 
The  oaken  log,  green,  huge,  and  thick, 
And  on  its  top  the  stout  back-stick  ; 
The  knotty  fore-stick  laid  apart. 
And  filled  between,  with  curious  art, 
The  ragged  brush  ;  then  hovering  near, 
We  watched  the  first  red  blaze  appear. 
Heard  the  sharp  crackle,  caught  the  gleam 
On  white-washed  wall  and  sagging  beam, 
Until  the  old,  rude-furnished  room 
Burst,  flower-like,  into  rosy  bloom  ; 
While  radiant  with  a  mimic  flame 
Outside  the  sparkling  drift  became. 
And  through  the  bare-boughed  lilac-tree 
Our  own  warm  hearth  seemed  blazing  free. 

Whittier. 


i 


ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS.  117 


EULOGY  ON  O'CONNELL. 

There  is  sad  news  from  Genoa.  An  aged  and  weary 
pilgrim,  who  can  travel  no  farther,  passes  beneath  the  gate 
of  one  of  her  ancient  palaces,  saying,  with  pious  resignation, 
as  he  enters  its  silent  chambers,  ''  Well,  it  is  God*s  will 
that  I  shall  never  see  Rome.  I  am  disappointed,  but  I  am 
ready  to  die." 

The  '^  superb,"  though  fading  queen  of  the  Mediterranean 
holds  anxious  watch  through  ten  long  days  over  that  ma- 
jestic stranger's  wasting  frame.  And  now  death  is  there, — 
the  Liberator  of  Ireland  has  sunk  to  rest  in  the  cradle  of 
Columbus. 

Coincidence  beautiful  and  most  sublime !  It  was  the 
very  day  set  apart  by  the  elder  daughter  of  the  Church  for 
prayer  and  sacrifice  throughout  the  world  for  the  children 
of  the  sacred  island,  perishing  by  famine  and  pestilence  in 
their  houses  and  in  their  native  fields,  and  on  their  crowded 
paths  of  exile,  on  the  sea  and  in  the  havens,  and  on  the 
lakes,  and  along  the  rivers  of  this  far-distant  land.  The 
chimes  rung  out  by  pity  for  his  countrymen  were  O'Con- 
nelTs  fitting  knell ;  his  soul  went  forth  on  clouds  of  incense 
that  rose  from  altars  of  Christian  charity  ;  and  the  mournful 
anthems  which  recited  the  faith,  and  the  virtue,  and  the 
endurance  of  Ireland  were  his  becoming  requiem. 

But  has  not  O'Connell  done  more  than  enough  for  fame? 
On  the  lofty  brow  of  Monticello,  under  a  green  old  oak,  is 
a  block  of  granite,  and  underneath  are  the  ashes  of  Jeflfer- 
son.  Read  the  epitaph,  —  it  is  the  sage's  claim  to  immor- 
tality :  "Author  of  the  Declaration  of  Independence,  and  of 
the  Statute  for  Religious  Liberty." 

Stop   now  and  write   an  epitaph   for  Daniel    O'Connell  : 

'  He  gave  liberty  of  conscience  to   Europe,   and    renewed 

Ithe  revolutions  of  the  kingdoms  toward  universal  freedom, 

I  which  began  in  America  and  had  been  arrested  by  the  an- 

larchy  of  France." 


118  ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS. 

Let  the  sta4:esmen  of  the  age  read  that  epitaph  and  be 
humble.  Let  the  kings  and  aristocracies  of  the  earth  read 
it  and  tremble. 

Who  has  ever  accomplished  so  much  for  human  freedom 
with  means  so  feeble?  Who  but  he  has  ever  given  liberty 
to  a  people  by  the  mere  utterance  of  his  voice,  without  an 
army,  a  navy,  or  revenues,  —  without  a  sword,  a  spear,  or 
even  a  shield? 

Who  but  he  ever  subverted  tyranny,  and  saved  the  lives 
of  the  oppressed,  and  yet  spared  the  oppressor? 

Who  but  he  ever  detached  from  a  venerable  constitution 
a  column  of  aristocracy,  dashed  it  to  the  earth,  and  yet  left 
the  ancient  fabric  stronger  and  more  beautiful  than  before? 

Who  but  he  has  ever  lifted  up  seven  millions  of  people 
from  the  debasement  of  ages,  to  the  dignity  of  freedom, 
without  exacting  an  ounce  of  gold,  or  wasting  the  blood  of 
one  human  heart?  ^^ 

Whose  voice  yet  lingers  like  O'Connell's  in  the  ear  of 
tyrants,  making  them  sink  with  fear  of  change  ;  and  in  the 
ear  of  the  most  degraded  slaves  on  earth,  awaking  hopes 
of  freedom  ? 

Who  before  him  has  brought  the  schismatics  of  two  cen- 
turies together,  conciliating  them  at  the  altar  of  universal 
liberty?  Who  but  he  ever  brought  Papal  Rome  and  Prot- 
estant America  to  burn  incense  together? 

It  was  O'Conneirs  mission  to  teach  mankind  tliat  Liberty 
was  not  estranged  from  Christianity,  as  was  proclaimed  by 
revolutionary  France  ;  that  she  was  not  divorced  from  Imw 
and  public  order;  that  she  was  not  a  demon  like  Molocli, 
requiring  to  be  propitiated  with  the  blood  of  human  sacri 
fice  ;  that  democracy  is  the  daughter  of  peace,  and,  like  true 
religion,  woiketh  by  love. 

I  see  in  Catholic  emancipation,  and  in  the  repeal  of  the 
act  of  union  between   Great  Britain  and  Ireland,  only  inci- 
dents of  an  all-pervading  phenomenon,  —  a  phenomenon  of 
mighty  interest,  but   not  portentous  of  evil.     It  is  the  uni 
versal  dissolution  of  monarchical  and  aristocratical  govern- 


ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS.  119 

ments,  and  the  establishment  of  pure  democracies  in  theii 
place. 

I  know  this  change  must  come,  for  even  the  menaced 
governments  feel  and  confess  it.  I  know  that  it  will  be  re- 
sisted, for  it  is  not  in  the  nature  of  power  to  relax.  It  is 
a  fearful  inquiry,  How  shall  that  change  be  passed?  Shall 
there  never  be  an  end  to  devastation  and  carnage?  Is  every 
step  of  human  progress  in  the  future,  as  in  the  past,  to  be 
marked  by  blood? 

Must  the  nations  of  the  earth,  after  groaning  for  ages 
under  vicious  institutions  established  without  their  consent, 
wade  through  deeper  seas  to  reach  that  condition  of  more 
perfect  liberty  to  which  they  are  so  rapidly,  so  irresistibly 
impelled? 

Or  shall  they  be  able  to  change  their  forms  of  government 
by  slow  and  measured  degrees,  without  entirely  or  all  at 
once  subverting  them,  and  from  time  to  time  to  repair  their 
ancient  constitutions  so  as  to  adapt  them  peacefully  to  the 
progress  of  the  age,  the  diflusion  of  knowledge,  the  culti- 
vation of  virtue,  and  the  promotion  of  happiness? 

When  that  crisis  shall  come,  the  colossal  fabric  of  the 
British  Empire  will  have  given  way  under  its  always  accu- 
mulating weight.  I  see  England,  then,  in  solitude  and  in 
declining  greatness,  as  Rome  was  when  her  provinces  were 
torn  av^ay,  —  as  Spain  now  is  since  the  loss  of  the  Indies; 
1  see  Irelan/l,  'nvigorated  by  the  severe  experience  of  a  long 
though  peac(fcfui  revolution,  extending  her  arms  east  and 
west  in  fraternal  embrace  towards  new  rising  states,  her 
resources  restored  and  improved,  her  people  prosperous  and 
happy,  and  her  institutions  again  shedding  the  lights  of 
piety,  art,  and  freedom  over  the  world. 

Come  forward,  then,  ye  nations  who  arc  trembling  be- 
tween the  dangers  of  anarchy  and  the  pressure  of  despotism, 
and  hear  a  voice  that  addresses  the  Liberator  of  Ireland 
from  the  caverns  of  Silence  where  Prophecy  is  born  :  — 


% 


''To  thee,  now  sainted  spirit, 
Patriarch  of  a  wide-spreading  family, 


120  ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS. 

Remotest  lands  and  unborn  times  shall  turn, 
Whether  they  would  restore  or  build.     To  thee  I 

As  one  who  rightly  taught  how  Zeal  should  burn; 

As  one  who  drew  from  out  Faith's  holiest  urn 
The  purest  streams  of  patient  energy." 

W.  H.  Seward. 


LADY  CLARA    VERE  D^  VERB. 

Lady  Clara  Vere  de  Vere, 

Of  me  you  shall  not  win  renown : 
You  thought  to  break  a  country  heart 

For  pastime,  ere  you  went  to  town. 
At  me  you  smiled,  but  unbeguiled 

I  saw  the  snare,  and  I  retired : 
The  daughter  of  a  hundred  Earls, 

You  are  not  one  to  be  desired. 

Lady  Clara  Vere  de  Vere, 

I  know  you  proud  to  bear  your  name, 
Your  pride  is  yet  no  mate  for  mine. 

Too  proud  to  care  from  whence  I  came*. 
Nor  would  I  break  for  your  sweet  sake 

A  heart  that  dotes  on  truer  charms. 
A  simple  maiden  in  her  flower 

Is  worth  a  hundred  coats-of-arms. 

Lady  Clara  Vere  de  Vere, 

Some  meeker  pupil  you  must  find, 
For  were  you  queen  of  all  that  is, 

I  could  not  stoop  to  such  a  mind. 
You  sought  to  prove  how  I  could  love, 

And  my  disdain  is  my  reply. 
The  lion  on  your  old  stone  gates 

Is  not  more  cold  to  you  than  I. 


ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS.  121 

Lady  Clara  Vere  de  Vere, 

You  put  strange  memories  in  my  head. 
Not  thrice  your  branching  limes  have  blown 

Since  I  beheld  young  Laurence  dead. 
Oh,  your  sweet  eyes,  your  low  replies : 

A  great  enchantress  you  may  be : 
But  there  was  that  across  his  throat 

Which  you  had  hardly  cared  to  see. 

Lady  Clara  Vere  de  Vere, 

When  thus  he  met  his  mother's  view, 
She  had  the  passions  of  her  kind, 

She  spake  some  certain  truths  of  you. 
Indeed,  I  heard  one  bitter  word 

That  scarce  is  fit  for  you  to  hear ; 
Her  manners  had  not  that  repose 

Which  stamps  the  caste  of  Vere  de  Vere* 

Lady  Clara  Vere  de  Vere, 

There  stands  a  spectre  in  your  hall : 
The  guilt  of  blood  is  at  your  door: 

You  changed  a  wholesome  heart  to  gall. 
You  held  your  course  without  remorse, 

To  make  him  trust  his  modest  worth, 
And,  last,  you  fixed  a  vacant  stare, 

And  slew  him  with  your  noble  birth. 

Trust  me,  Clara  Vere  de  Vere, 

From  yon  blue  heavens  above  us  bent, 
The  grand  old  gardener  and  his  wife 

Smile  at  the  claims  of  long  descent. 
Howe'er  it  be,  it  seems  to  me, 

'Tis  only  noble  to  be  good. 
Kind  hearts  are  more  than  coronets, 

And  simple  fliith  than  Norman  blood. 


122  ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS. 

I  know  you,  Clara  Vere  de  Vere  : 

You  pine  among  your  halls  and  towers: 
The  languid  light  of  your  proud  eyes 

Is  wearied  of  the  rolling  hours. 
In  glowing  health,  with  boundless  wealth, 

But  sickening  of  a  vague  disease, 
You  know  so  ill  to  deal  with  time, 

You  needs  must  play  such  pranks  as  these. 

Clara,  Clara  Vere  de  Vere, 

If  time  be  heavy  on  your  hands, 
Are  there  no  beggars  at  your  gate, 

Nor  any  poor  about  your  lands? 
Oh  !  teach  the  orphan-boy  to  read. 

Or  teach  the  orphan-girl  to  sew, 
Pray  Heaven  for  a  human  heart, 

And  let  the  foolish  yeoman  go. 

Tennyson. 


MARMION  AND  DOUGLAS. 

The  train  from  out  the  castle  drew. 
But  Marmion  stopped  to  bid  adieu  :  — 

"  Though  something  I  might  'plain,"  he  said, 
"  Of  cold  respect  to  stranger  guest. 
Sent  hither  by  your  king's  behest. 

While  in  Tantallon's  towers  I  stayed, 
Part  we  in  friendship  from  your  land, 
And,  noble  Earl,  receive  my  hand." 
But  Douglas  round  him  drew  his  cloak. 
Folded  his  arms,  and  thus  he  spoke  ;  — 
*'  My  manors,  halls,  and  bovvers  shall  still 
Be  open,  at  my  sovereign's  will, 
To  each  one  whom  he  lists,  howe'er 
Unmeet  to  be  the  owner's  peer ; 


ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS.  123 

My  castles  are  my  king's  alone, 
From  turret  to  foundation-stone,  — 
The  hand  of  Doughis  is  his  own. 
And  never  shall  ni  friendly  grasp 
The  hand  of  such  as  Marmion  clasp." 

Burned  Marmion's  swarthy  cheek  like  fire, 
And  shook  his  very  frame  for  ire, 

And  — ''  This  to  me  !  "  he  said, — 
"  An't  were  not  for  thy  hoary  beard,  — 
Such  hand  as  Marmlon's  had  not  spared 

To  cleave  the  Douglas*  head  ! 
And  first,  I  tell  thee,  haughty  peer, 
He  who  does  England's  message  here, 
Although  the  meanest  in  her  state, 
May  well,  proud  Angus,  be  thy  mate! 
And,  Douglas,  more  I  tell  thee  here, 

Even  in  thy  pitch  of  pride. 
Here  in  thy  hold,  thy  vassals  near, 
(Nay,  never  look  upon  your  lord, 
And  lay  your  hands  upon  your  sword,) 

I  tell  thee  thou'rt  defied  ! 
And  if  thou  saidst  I  am  not  peer 
To  any  lord  in  Scotland  here, 
Lowland  or  highland,  far  or  near, 

Lord  Angus,  thou  hast  lied  !  " 
On  the  Earl's  cheek  the  flush  of  rage 
O'ercame  the  ashen  hue  of  age : 
Fierce  he  broke  forth,  —  "•  And  dar'st  thou  then 
To  beard  the  lion  in  his  den. 

The  Douglas  in  his  hall? 
And  hop'st  thou  hence  unscathed  to  go? 
No,  by  St.  Bride  of  Bothwell,  no  ! 
Up  drawbridge,  grooms!  — What,  warder,  ho! 

Let  the  portcullis  fall." 
Lord  Marmion  turned,  —  well  was  his  need  !  — 
And  dashed  the  rowels  in  his  steed, 

123 


124  ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS. 

Like  arrow  through  the  archway  sprung ; 
The  ponderous  grate  behind  him  rung : 
To  pass  there  was  such  scanty  room, 
The  bars,  descending,  razed  his  plume. 

The  steed  along  the  drawbridge  flies, 

Just  as  it  trembled  on  the  rise  ; 

Not  lighter  does  the  swallow  skim 

Along  the  smooth  lake's  level  brim  ; 

And  when  Lord  Marmion  reached  his  band, 

He  halts,  and  turns  with  clenched  hand, 

And  shout  of  loud  defiance  pours, 

And  shook  his  gauntlet  at  the  towers. 

"  Horse  !  horse  !  "  the  Douglas  cried,  "  and  chase  I 

But  soon  he  reined  his  fury's  pace : 

'*  A  royal  messenger  he  came. 

Though  most  unworthy  of  the  name. 


St.  Mary,  mend  my  fiery  mood  ! 
Old  age  ne'er  cools  the  Douglas  blood, 
I  thought  to  slay  him  where  he  stood, 
'Tis  pity  of  him,  too,"  he  cried  ; 
"  Bold  can  he  speak,  and  fairly  ride, 
I  warrant  him  a  warrior  tried." 
With  this  his  mandate  he  recalls, 
And  slowly  seeks  his  castle  walls. 


Scott. 


SUPPOSED  SPEECH  OF  JOHN  ADAMS, 

Sink  or  swim,  live  or  die,  survive  or  perish,  I  give  my 
hand  and  my  heart  to  this  vote.  It  is  true,  indeed,  that  in 
the  beginning  we  aimed  not  at  independence.  But  there's  a 
divinity  which  sliapes  our  ends.  The  injustice  of  England 
has  driven  us  to  arms;  and,  blinded  to  her  own  interest  for 


ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS.  125 

our  good,  she  has  obstinately  persisted,  till  independence  is 
now  within  our  grasp.  We  have  but  to  reach  forth  to  it, 
and  it  is  ours.     Why,  then,  should  we  defer  the  declaration? 

Is  any  man  so  weak  as  now  to  hope  for  a  reconciliation 
with  England,  which  shall  leave  either  safety  to  the  country 
and  its  liberties,  or  safety  to  his  own  life  and  his  own  honor? 
Are  not  you,  sir,  who  sit  in  that  chair,  is  not  he,  our  vener- 
able colleague  near  you,  are  you  not  both  already  the  pro- 
scribed and  predestined  objects  of  punishment  and  of  ven- 
geance? Cut  off  from  all  hope  of  royal  clemency,  what  are 
you,  what  can  you  be,  while  the  power  of  England  remains, 
but  outlaws? 

If  we  postpone  independence,  do  we  mean  to  carry  on  or 
to  give  up  the  war?  Do  we  mean  to  submit  to  the  meas- 
ures of  Parliament,  Boston  Port  Bill  and  all?  Do  we  mean 
to  submit,  and  consent  that  we  ourselves  shall  be  ground  to 
powder,  and  our  country  and  its  rights  trodden  down  in  the 
dust? 

I  know  we  do  not  mean  to  submit.  We  never  shall  sub- 
mit. Do  we  intend  to  violate  that  most  solemn  obligation 
ever  entered  into  by  men,  that  plighting  before  God  of  our 
sacred  honor  to  Washington,  when,  putting  him  forth  to  in- 
cur the  dangers  of  war,  as  well  as  the  political  hazards  of 
the  times,  we  promised  to  adhere  to  him,  in  every  extremity, 
with  our  fortunes  and  our  lives?  I  know  there  is  not  a  man 
here,  who  would  not  rather  see  a  general  conflagration 
sweep  over  the  land,  or  an  earthquake  sink  it,  than  one  jot 
or  tittle  of  that  plighted  faith  fall  to  the  ground.  For  my- 
self, having,  twelve  months  ago,  in  this  place,  moved  you 
that  George  Washington  be  appointed  commander  of  the 
forces  raised,  or  to  be  raised,  for  the  defence  of  American 
liberty,  may  my  right  hand  forget  her  cunning,  and  my 
tongue  cleave  to  the  roof  of  my  mouth,  if  I  hesitate  or  waver 
in  the  support  I  give  him. 

The  war,  then,  must  go  on.  We  must  fight  it  through. 
And  if  the  war  must  go  on,  why  put  off  longer  the  declara- 
tion of   independence?     That   measure  will    strengthen   us. 


126  ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS. 

It  will  give  us  character  abroad.  The  nations  will  then 
treat  with  us,  which  they  never  can  do  while  we  acknowl- 
edge ourselves  subjects  in  arms  against  our  sovereign.  Nay, 
I  maintain  that  England  herself  will  sooner  treat  for  peace 
with  us  on  the  footing  of  independence,  than  consent,  bv  re- 
pealing her  acts,  to  acknowledge  that  her  whole  conduct 
toward  us  has  been  a  course  of  injustice  and  oppression. 

Her  pride  will  be  less  wounded  by  submitting  to  that 
course  of  things  which  now  predestinates  our  independence, 
than  by  yielding  the  points  in  controversy  to  her  rebellious 
subjects.  The  former  she  would  regard  as  the  result  of  for- 
tune ;  the  latter  she  would  feel  as  her  own  deep  disgrace. 
Why  then,  why  then,  sir,  do  we  not,  as  soon  as  possible, 
change  this  from  a  civil  to  a  national  war?  And  since  we 
must  fight  it  through,  why  not  put  ourselves  in  a  state  to  en- 
joy all  the  benefits  of  victory,  if  w^e  gain  the  victory  ? 

If  we  fail,  it  can  be  no  worse  for  us.  But  we  shall  not 
fail.  The  cause  will  raise  up  armies ;  the  cause  will  create 
navies.  The  people,  the  people,  if  we  are  true  to  them, 
will  carry  us,  and  will  carry  themselves,  gloriously  through 
this  struggle.  I  care  not  how  fickle  other  people  have  been 
found.  I  know  the  people  of  these  colonies,  and  I  know 
that  resistance  to  British  aggression  is  deep  and  settled  in 
their  hearts,  and  cannot  be  eradicated.  Every  colony,  in- 
deed, has  expressed  its  willingness  to  follow,  if  we  but  take 
the  lead. 

Sir,  the  declaration  will  inspire  the  people  with  increased 
courage.  Instead  of  a  long  and  bloody  war  for  the  restora- 
tion of  privileges,  for  redress  of  grievances,  for  chartered 
immunities  held  under  a  British  king,  set  before  them  the 
glorious  object  of  entire  independence,  and  it  will  breathe 
into  them  anew  the  breath  of  life. 

Read  this  declaration  at  the  head  of  the  army ;  every 
sword  will  be  drawn  from  its  scabbard,  and  the  solemn  vow 
uttered,  to  maintain  it,  or  to  perish  on  the  bed  of  honor. 
Publish  it  from  the  pulpit ;  religion  will  approve  it,  and  the 
love  of  religious  liberty  will  cling  round  it,  resolved  to  stand 


ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS.  127 

with  it,  or  fall  with  it.  Send  it  to  the  public  halls  ;  proclaim 
it  there  ;  let  them  hear  it  who  heard  the  first  roai  of  the 
enemy's  cannon  ;  let  them  see  it  who  saw  their  brothers  and 
their  sons  fiill  on  the  field  of  Bunker  Hill,  and  in  the  streets 
of  Lexington  and  Concord,  and  the  very  walls  will  cry  out 
in  its  support. 

Sir,  I  know  the  uncertainty  of  human  affairs,  but  I  see, 
I  see  clearly  through  this  day's  business.  You  and  I,  in- 
deed, may  rue  it.  We  may  not  live  to  the  time  when  this 
declaration  shall  be  made  good.  We  may  die  ;  die  colonists  ; 
die  slaves  ;  die,  it  may  be,  ignominiously,  and  on  the  scaf- 
fold. Be  it  so.  Be  it  so.  If  it  be  the  pleasure  of  Heaven 
that  my  country  shall  require  the  poor  offering  of  my  life, 
the  victim  shall  be  ready  at  the  appointed  hour  of  sacrifice, 
come  when  that  hour  may.  But  while  I  do  live,  let  me  have 
I  a  country,  or  at  least  the  hope  of  a  country,  and  that  a  free 
country. 

But  whatever  may  be  our  fate,  be  assured,  be  assured  that 
this  declaration  will  stand.  It  may  cost  treasure  and  it  may 
cost  blood  ;  but  it  will  stand,  and  it  will  richly  compensate 
for  both.  Through  the  thick  gloom  of  the  present,  I  see  the 
brightness  of  the  future  as  the  sun  in  heaven.  We  shall 
make  this  a  glorious,  an  immortal  day.  When  we  are  in 
our  graves,  our  children  will  honor  it.  They  will  celebrate 
it  with  thanksgiving,  with  festivity,  with  bonfires  and  illumi- 
nations. On  its  annual  return,  they  will  shed  tears,  copious, 
gushing  tears,  not  of  subjection  and  slavery,  not  of  agony 
and  distress,  but  of  exultation,  of  gratitude,  and  of  joy. 

Sir,  before  God,  I  believe  the  hour  is  come.  My  judgment 
approves  this  measure,  and  my  whole  heart  is  in  it.  All 
that  I  have,  and  all  that  I  am,  and  all  that  I  hope  in  this  life, 
I  am  now  ready  here  to  stake  upon  it ;  and  I  leave  ofl'  as  I 
begun,  that,  live  or  die,  survive  or  perish,  lam  for  the  decla- 
ration. It  is  my  living  sentiment,  and  by  the  blessing  of 
God  it  shall  be  my  dying  sentiment,  —  independence  now^ 

and  INDEPENDENCE  FOREVER  !  WebSTER. 


128  ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS. 


THE  BRIDGE. 

I  STOOD  on  the  bridge  at  midnight, 

As  the  clocks  were  striking  the  hour, 
And  the  moon  rose  over  the  city, 

Behind  the  dark  churcli-tower ; 
I  saw  her  bright  reflection 

In  the  waters  under  me, 
Like  a  golden  goblet  falling, 

And  sinking  into  the  sea. 

And,  in  the  hazy  distance. 

Of  that  lovely  night  in  June, 
The  blaze  of  the  flaming  furnace 

Gleamed  redder  than  the  moon: 
Among  the  long,  black  rafters 

The  wavering  shadows  lay  ; 
And  the  current  that  came  from  the  oceaa 

Seemed  to  lift  and  bear  them  away. 

As  sweeping  and  eddying  through  them 

Rose  the  belated  tide, 
And  streaming  into  the  moonlight 

The  seaweed  floated  wide, 
And  like  those  waters  rushing 

Among  the  wooden  piers, 
A  flood  of  thoughts  came  o'er  me, 

That  filled  my  eyes  with  tears. 

How  often,  oh  !  how  often, 

In  the  days  that  had  gone  by, 
I  had  stood  on  the  bridge  at  midnight. 

And  gazed  on  that  wave  and  sky ! 
How  often,  oh  !  how  often, 

I  had  wished  that  the  ebbing  tide 
Would  bear  me  away  on  its  bosom, 

O'er  the  ocean,  wild  and  wide ! 


ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS.  12& 

For  my  heart  was  hot  and  restless, 

And  my  life  was  full  of  care. 
And  the  burden  laid  upon  me 

Seemed  greater  than  I  could  bear. 
But  now  it  has  fallen  from  me ; 

It  is  buried  in  the  sea  ; 
And  only  the  sorrow  of  others 

Throws  its  shadow  over  me. 

Yet  whenever  I  cross  the  river. 

On  its  bridge  with  wooden  piers. 
Like  the  odor  of  brine  from  the  ocean 

Comes  the  thought  of  other  years; 
And  I  thiniv  how  many  thousands 

Of  care-encurnbered  men, 
Each  bearing  his  burden  of  sorrow, 

Have  crossed  the  bridge  since  then. 

I  see  the  long  procession 

Still  passing  to  and  fro,  — 
The  young  heart  hot  and  restless, 

The  old  subdued  and  slow  ; 
And  forever,  and  forever, 

As  long  as  the  river  flows. 
As  long  as  the  heart  has  passions, 

As  long  as  life  has  woes, 
The  moon  and  its  broken  reflection 

And  its  shadows  shall  appear 
As  a  symbol  of  love  in  heaven. 

And  its  wavering  image  here. 

L.ONGFELLOW. 

9 


130  ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS. 


THE   LOST  CHORD. 

Seated  one  day  at  the  organ, 

I  was  weary  and  ill  at  ease. 
And  my  fingers  wandered  idly 

Over  the  noisy  keys. 

I  do  not  know  what  I  was  playing. 
Or  what  I  was  dreaming  then ; 

But  I  struck  one  chord  of  music, 
Like  the  sound  of  a  great  Amen ! 

It  flooded  the  crimson  twilight, 

Like  the  close  of  an  angel's  psalm, 

And  it  lay  on  my  fevered  spirit. 
With  a  touch  of  infinite  calm. 

It  quieted  pain  and  sorrow, 

Like  love  overcoming  strife ; 
It  seemed  the  harmonious  echo 

From  our  discordant  life. 

It  linked  all  perplexed  meanings 

Into  one  perfect  peace, 
And  trembled  away  into  silence, 

As  if  it  were  loth  to  cease. 

I  have  sought,  but  I  seek  it  vainly, 

That  one  lost  chord  divine. 
That  came  from  the  soul  of  the  organ, 

And  entered  into  mine. 

It  may  be  that  Death's  bright  angel 
Will  speak  in  that  chord  again  ; 

It  may  be  that  only  in  heaven 
I  shall  hear  that  grand  Amen. 

Adelaide  A.  Proctor 


ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS.  131 


OTHELLO'S  DEFENCE. 

Most  potent,  grave,  and  reverend  signiors, 

My  very  noble  and  approved  good  masters,  — 

That  I  have  ta'en  away  this  old  man's  daughter, 

It  is  most  true  ;  true,  I  have  married  her ; 

The  very  head  and  front  of  my  offending 

Hath  this  extent,  no  more.     Rude  am  I  in  speech, 

And  little  bless'd  with  the  set  phrase  of  peace ; 

For  since  these  arms  of  mine  had  seven  years  pith, 

Till  now,  some  nine  moons  wasted,  they  have  used 

Their  dearest  action  in  the  tented  field  ; 

And  little  of  this  great  world  can  I  speak, 

More  than  pertains  to  feats  of  broil  and  battle ; 

And  therefore  little  shall  I  grace  my  cause, 

In  speaking  for  myself.      Yet,  by  your  gracious  patience, 

I  will  a  roimd  unvarnish'd  tale  deliver 

Of  my  whole  course  of  love  ;  what  drugs,  what  charms, 

What  conjuration,  and  what  mighty  magic, 

(For  such  proceeding  I  am  charged  withal,) 

I  won  his  daughter. 

Her  father  loved  me  ;  oft  invited  me. 

Still  questioned  me  the  story  of  my  life. 

From  year  to  year  ;  the  battles,  sieges,  fortunes, 

That  I  have  pass'd. 

I  ran  it  through,  even  from  my  boyish  days. 

To  the  very  moment  that  he  bade  me  tell  it : 

Wherein  I  spoke  of  most  disastrous  chances. 

Of  moving  accidents,  by  flood  and  field  ; 

Of  hair-breadth  'scapes  i'  the  imminent  deadly  breach; 

Of  being  taken  by  the  insolent  foe. 

And  sold  to  slavery  ;  of  my  redemption  thence, 

And  with  it  all  my  travel's  history. 

These  things  to  hear. 

Would  Desdemona  seriously  incline : 


132  ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS. 

But  still  the  house  affairs  would  draw  her  thence ; 

Which  ever  as  she  could  with  haste  despatch, 

She'd  come  again,  and  with  a  greedy  ear 

Devour  up  my  discourse.      Which  I  observing, 

Took  once  a  pliant  hour ;  and  found  good  means 

To  draw  from  her  a  prayer  of  earnest  heart, 

That  I  would  all  my  pilgrimage  dilate, 

Whereof  by  parcels  she  had  something  heard, 

But  not  intentively  :  I  did  consent ; 

And  often  did  beguile  her  of  her  tears, 

When  I  did  speak  of  some  distressful  stroke, 

That  my  youth  suffer'd.     My  story  being  done, 

She  gave  me  for  my  pains  a  world  of  sighs : 

She  swore, — in  faith,  'twas  strange,  'twas  passing  strange  ; 

'Twas  pitiful,  'twas  wondrous  pitiful : 

She  wish'd  she  had  not  heard  it,  yet  she  wish'd 

That  Heaven  had  made  her  such  a  man  :  she  thank'd  me, 

And  bade  me,  if  I  had  a  friend  that  loved  her, 

I  should  but  teach  him  how  to  tell  my  story. 

And  that  would  woo  her.     Upon  this  hint,  I  spake ; 

She  loved  me  for  the  dangers  I  had  pass'd ; 

And  I  loved  her,  that  she  did  pity  them. 

This  only  is  the  witchcraft  I  have  used ; 

Here  comes  the  lady,  let  her  witness  it. 

Shake  SPEARB. 


THE  ARSENAL  AT  SPRINGFIELD, 

This  is  the  Arsenal.     From  floor  to  ceiling, 
Like  a  huge  organ,  rise  the  burnished  arms ; 

But  from  their  silent  pipes  no  anthem  pealing 
Startles  the  villagers  with  strange  alarms. 

Ah,  what  a  sound  will  rise,  how  wild  and  dreary, 
When  the  Death-Angel  touches  those  swift  keys  I 

What  loud  lament  and  dismal  Miserere 
Will  mingle  with  their  awful  symphonies  \ 


ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS.  133 

I  hear,  even  now,  the  infinite  fierce  chorns, 

The  cries  of  agony,  the  endless  groan. 
Which,  through  the  ages  that  have  gone  before  us. 

In  long  reverberations  reach  our  own. 

On  helm  and  harness  rings  the  Saxon  hammer, 

Through  Cimbric  forest  roars  the  Norseman's  song, 

And  loud  amid  the  universal  clamor. 

O'er  distant  deserts,  sounds  the  Tartar  gong. 

I  hear  the  Florentine,  who  from  his  palace 
Wheels  out  his  battle-bell  with  dreadful  din, 

And  Aztec  priests,  upon  their  teocallis, 

Beat  the  wild  war-drums  made  of  serpent's  skin. 

The  tumult  of  each  sacked  and  burning  village  ; 

The  shout,  that  every  prayer  for  mercy  drowns ; 
The  soldiers'  revels  in  the  midst  of  pillage. 

The  wail  of  famine  in  beleaguered  towns. 

The  bursting  shell,  the  gateway  wrenched  asunder, 
The  ratding  musketry,  the  clashing  blade ; 

And  ever  and  anon,  in  tones  of  thunder, 
The  diapason  of  the  cannonade. 

Is  it,  O  Man,  with  such  discordant  noises, 

With  such  accursed  instruments  as  these, 
Thou  drownest  Nature's  sweet  and  kindly  voices, 

And  jarrest  the  celestial  harmonies? 

Were  half  the  power  that  fills  the  world  with  terror. 
Were  half  the  wealth  bestowed  on  camps  and  courts; 

Given  to  redeem  the  human  mind  from  error, 
There  were  no  need  of  arsenals  and  forts. 

'I'lie  warrior's  name  would  be  a  name  abhorred  ! 

And  every  nation  that  should  lift  again 
Its  hand  against  a  brother,  on  its  forehead 

Would  wear  for  evermore  the  curse  of  Cain ! 


134  ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS. 

Down  the  dark  future,  through  long  generations, 
The  echoing  sounds  grow  fainter,  and  then  cease  ; 

And,  like  a  bell,  with  solemn,  sweet  vibrations, 

I  hear  once  more  the  voice  of  Christ  say,  "  Peace  !  '' 

Peace  !   and  no  longer  froin  its  brazen  portals 
The  blast  of  War's  great  organ  shakes  the  skies ! 

But  beautiful  as  songs  of  the  Immortals, 

The  holy  melodies  of  love  arise.  Longfellow. 


GRIFFITH'S  DESCRIPTION  OF  CARDINAL  WOLSEY, 

Noble  madam, 
Men's  evil  manners  live  in  brass  ;  their  virtues 
We  write  in  water.     May  it  please  your  highness 
To  hear  me  speak  his  good  now? 

This  cardinal. 
Though  from  an  humble  stock,  undoubtedly 
Was  fashioned  to  much  honor.     From  his  cradle, 
He  w\as  a  scholar,  and  a  ripe  and  good  one  ; 
Exceeding  wise,  fair  spoken,  and  persuading : 
Lofty  and  sour  to  them  that  loved  him  not ; 
But  to  those  men  that  sought  him,  sweet  as  summer. 
And  though  he  w^ere  unsatisfied  in  getting, 
(Which  was  a  sin.)  yet  in  bestowing,  madam, 
He  was  most  princely.      Ever  witness  for  him 
Those  twins  of  learning,  that  he  raised  in  you, 
Ipswich,  and  Oxford  ;  one  of  which  fell  with  him, 
Unwilling  to  outlive  the  good  that  did  it ; 
The  other,  though  unfinished,  yet  so  famous, 
So  excellent  in  art,  and  still  so  rising. 
That  Christendom  shall  ever  speak  his  virtue. 
His  overthrow  heaped  happiness  upon  him  ; 
For  then,  and  not  till  then,  he  felt  himself, 
And  found  the  blessedness  of  being  little: 
And  to  add  greater  honors  to  his  age 
Than  man  could  give  him,  he  died,  fearing  God. 

Shakespeare, 


ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS.  135 


AN  APPEAL    TO  ARMS, 

Mr.  President  :  It  is  natural  for  man  to  indulge  in  the 
illusions  of  hope.  We  are  apt  to  shut  our  eyes  against  a 
painful  truth,  and  listen  to  the  song  of  that  siren  till  she 
transforms  us  into  beasts.  Is  this  tlie  part  of  wise  men,  en- 
«^agcd  in  a  great  and  arduous  struggle  for  liberty? 

Are  we  disposed  to  be  of  the  number  of  those  who,  having 
eyes,  see  not,  and  having  ears,  hear  not,  the  things  which  so 
nearly  concern  their  temporal  salvation?  For  my  part, 
whatever  anguish  of  spirit  it  may  cost,  I  am  willing  to  know 
the  whole  truth  ;  to  know  the  worst,  and  to  provide  for  it. 

I  have  but  one  lamp  by  which  my  feet  are  guided  ;  and 
that  is  the  lamp  of  experience.  I  know  of  no  way  of  judg- 
ing of  the  future  but  by  the  past.  And,  judging  by  the  past, 
I  wish  to  know  what  there  has  been  in  the  conduct  of  the 
British  ministry  for  the  last  ten  years,  to  justify  those  hopes 
with  which  gentlemen  have  been  pleased  to  solace  them- 
selves and  the  house? 

Is  it  that  insidious  smile  with  which  our  petition  has  been 
hitely  received  ?  Trust  it  not,  sir;  it  will  prove  a  snare  to 
your  feet.  Sutier  not  yourselves  to  be  betrayed  with  a  kiss. 
Ask  yourselves  how  this  gracious  reception  of  our  petition 
comports  with  those  warlike  preparations  which  cover  our 
waters  and  darken  our  land. 

Are  fleets  and  armies  necessary  to  a  work  of  love  and  rec- 
onciliation? Have  we  showni  ourselves  so  unwilling  to  be 
reconciled,  that  force  must  be  called  in  to  win  back  our 
love?  Let  us  not  deceive  ourselves,  sir.  These  are  the 
implements  of  war  and  subjugation,  —  the  last  arguments  to 
which  kings  resort. 

I  ask  gentlemen,  sir,  what  means  this  martial  array,  if  its 
purpose  be  not  to  force  us  to  submission?  Can  gentlemen 
assign  any  other  possible  motive  for  it?  Has  Great  Britain 
any  enemy  in   this  quarter  of  the  world,  to  call  for  all  this 


13G  ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS. 

accumulation  of  navies  and  armies?  No,  sir,  she  has  none. 
They  are  meant  for  us ;  they  can  be  meant  for  no  other. 

They  are  sent  over  to  bind  and  rivet  upon  us  those  chains 
which  the  British  ministry  have  been  so  long  forging.  And 
what  have  we  to  oppose  to  them?  Shall  we  try  argument? 
Sir,  we  have  been  trying  that  for  the  last  ten  years.  Have 
we  anything  new  to  offer  upon  the  subject?  Nothing.  We 
have  held  the  subject  up  in  every  light  of  which  it  is  capable  ; 
but  it  has  been  all  in  vain. 

Shall  we  resort  to  entreaty  and  humble  supplication? 
What  terms  shall  we  find,  which  have  not  been  already 
exhausted?  Let  us  not,  I  beseech  you,  sir,  deceive  our- 
selves longer.  Sir,  we  have  done  everything  that  could  be 
done,  to  avert  the  storm  which  is  now  coming  on.  We 
have  petitioned,  we  have  remonstrated,  we  have  suppli- 
cated ;  we  have  prostrated  ourselves  before  the  throne ;  and 
have  implored  its  interposition  to  arrest  the  tyrannical  hands 
of  the  ministry  and  parliament. 

Our  petitions  have  been  slighted  ;  our  remonstrances  have 
produced  additional  violence  and  insult ;  our  supplications 
have  been  disregarded  ;  and  we  have  been  spurned,  with 
contempt,  from  the  foot  of  the  throne.  In  vain,  after  these 
things,  may  we  indulge  the  fond  hope  of  peace  and  recon- 
ciliation.    There  is  no  longer  any  room  for  hope. 

If  we  wish  to  be  free  ;  if  we  mean  to  preserve  inviolate 
those  inestimable  privileges  for  which  we  have  been  so  long 
contending ;  if  we  mean  not  basely  to  abandon  the  noble 
struggle  in  which  we  have  been  so  long  engaged,  and  which 
we  have  pledged  ourselves  never  to  abandon  until  the  glo- 
rious object  of  our  contest  shall  be  obtained,  —  we  must 
fight !  —  I  repeat  it,  sir,  we  must  fight !  An  appeal  to 
arms,  and  to  the  God  of  hosts,  is  all  that  is  left  us. 

They  tell  us,  sir,  that  we  are  weak,  —  unable  to  cope  with 
so  formidable  an  adversary.  But  when  shall  we  be  stronger? 
Will  it  be  the  next  week,  or  the  next  year?  Will  it  be  when 
we  are  totally  disarmed,  and  when  a  British  guard  shall  be 
stationed  in  every  house? 


ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS.  137 

Shall  we  gather  strength  by  irresolution  and  inaction? 
Shall  we  acquire  the  means  of  effectual  resistance  by  lying 
supinely  on  our  backs,  and  hugging  the  delusive  phantom 
of  hope,  until  our  enemies  shall  have  bound  us  hand  and 
foot  ? 

Sir,  we  are  not  weak,  if  we  make  a  proper  use  of  those 
means  which  the  God  of  nature  hath  placed  in  our  power. 
Three  millions  of  people,  armed  in  the  holy  cause  of  Liberty, 
and  in  such  a  country  as  that  which  w^e  possess,  are  invin- 
cible by  any  force  which  our  enemy  can  send  against  us. 

Besides,  sir,  we  shall  not  fight  our  battles  alone.  There 
is  a  just  God,  who  presides  over  the  destinies  of  nations,  and 
who  will  raise  up  friends  to  fight  our  battles  for  us.  The 
battle,  sir,  is  not  to  the  strong  alone  ;  it  is  to  the  vigilant, 
the  active,  the  brave.  Besides,  sir,  we  have  no  election.  If 
we  were  base  enough  lo  desire  it,  it  is  now  too  late  to  retire 
from  the  contest. 

There  is  no  retreat,  but  in  submission  and  slavery  !  Our 
chains  are  forged.  Their  clanking  may  be  heard  on  the 
pi  I  ins  of  Boston  !  The  war  is  inevitable,  —  and  let  it  come  ! 
—  I  repeat  it,  sir,  let  it  come  !  It  is  vain,  sir,  to  extenuate 
the  matter.  Gentlemen  may  cry,  Peace,  peace  !  but  there  is 
no  peace.     The  war  is  actually  begun  ! 

The  next  gale  that  sweeps  from  the  north  will  bring  to 
our  cars  the  clash  of  resounding  arms  I  Our  brethren  are 
already  in  the  field  !  Why  stand  we  here  idle?  What  is  it 
that  gentlemen  wish.?  what  would  they  have?  Is  life  so 
dear,  or  peace  so  sweet,  as  to  be  purchased  at  the  price  of 
chains  and  slavery.?  Forbid  it.  Almighty  God.  I  know 
not  what  course  others  may  take,  but,  as  for  me,  give  mc 
liberty,  oi  give  me  death  !  Patrick  Henry. 


138  ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS. 


THE   CLOSET  SCENE  FROM  HAMLET 

Enter  Queen  and  Polonius. 
PoL     He  will  come  straight.     Look  you,  lay  home  to  him  ; 
Tell  him,  his  pranks  have  been  too  broad  to  bear  with: 
And  that  your  grace  has  screened  and  stood  between 
Much  heat  and  him.     Fll  'sconce  me  c*en  here. 
Pray  you,  be  round  with  him. 

^ueen.  I'll  warrant  you  ; 

Fear  me  not :  — withdraw,  I  hear  him  coming. 

(Polonius  hides  himself,) 

Enter  Hamlet. 

Ham,     Now,  mother;  what's  the  matter.? 

^ucen,     Hamlet,  thou  hast  thy  father  much  offended. 

Ham,     Motiier,  you  have  my  father  much  oftended. 

^ueefi.     Come,  come,  you  answer  with  an  idle  tongue. 

Ham.     Go,  go,  you  question  with  a  wicked  tongue. 

^ueen.     Why,  how  now,  Hamlet? 

Ha7n,  What*s  the  matter  now? 

^ueen.     Have  you  forgot  me  ? 

IIa7n,  No,  by  the  rood,  not  so : 

You  are  the  queen,  your  husband's  brother's  wife; 
And,  —  would  it  were  not  so  !  — you  are  my  mother. 

^ueen.     Nay,  then  Fll  set  those  to  you  that  can  speak. 

Ham,    Come,  come,  and  sit  you  down ;  you  shall  not  budge  ; 
You  go  not  till  I  set  you  up  a  glass, 
Where  you  may  see  the  inmost  part  of  you. 

^ueen.     What  wilt  thou  do?  thou  wilt  not  murder  me? 
Help,  help,  ho  ! 

Pol,   {Behind,)  What,  ho  !  help,  help,  help  ! 

Ha7n,  How  now!  a  rat?     {Draws,) 

Dead,  for  a  ducat,  dead. 

(Hamlet  ?nakes  a  pass  through  the  arras,) 

Pol,     {Behind.)     Oh,  I  am  slain.  {Falls  and  dies,) 

^ueen.     O  me  !   what  hast  thou  done? 


ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS.  139 

Ham,  Nay,  I  know  not : 

Is  it  the  king? 

{Lifts  up  the  arras^  and  draws  forth  Poi.onius.) 

^ueefi.     Oh,  what  a  rash  and  bloody  deed  is  this! 

Ham.     A  bloody  deed  ;  —  almost  as  bad,  good  mother, 
As  kill  a  king,  and  marry  with  his  brother. 

^ueen.     As  kill  a  king  ! 

Ham.  Ay,  lady,  'twas  my  word  — 

{To  POLONIUS.) 

Thou  wretched,  rash,  intruding  fool,  farewell ! 

I  took  thee  for  thy  better  ;   take  thy  fortune  : 

Thou  find'st  to  be  too  busy,  is  some  danger.  — 

( To  the  Queen.) 

Leave  wringing  of  your  hands  :    peace  !    sit  you  down, 

nd  let  me  wring  your  heart ;  for  so  I  shall, 
f  it  be  made  of  penetrable  stufl^; 

If  damned  custom  hath  not  brazed  it  so, 

That  it  be  proof  and  bulwark  against  sense. 

^iieen.    What  have  I  done,  that  thou  darest  wag  thy  tongue 

In  noise  so  rude  against  me? 

Ham.  Such  an  act. 

That  blurs  the  grace  and  blush  of  modesty; 

Calls  virtue,  hypocrite  ;  takes  oft'  the  rose 

From  the  fair  forehead  of  an  innocent  love 

And  sets  a  blister  there  ;   makes  marriage  vows 

As  false  as  dicers'  oaths;    Oh,  such  a  deed 

As  from  the  body  of  contraction  plucks 

The  very  soul  ;   and  sweet  religion  makes 

A  rliapsody  of  words  :    Heaven's  face  doth  glow; 

Yea,  this  solidity  and  compound  mass, 
[      With  tristful  visage,  as  against  the  doom, 
I     Is  thought-sick  at  the  act. 
■\         ^ueen.  Ah  me,  what  act, 

fcThat  roars  so  loud,  and  thunders  in  the  index? 
K    Ham.     Look  here,  upon  this  picture,  jmd  on  thi^  ; 
Hprhe  counterfeit  presentment  of  two  brothers. 
^Bee,  what  a  grace  was  seated  on  this  brow  ; 


140  ^IDVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS. 

Hyperion's  curls;  the  front  of  Jove  himself; 

An  eye  like  Mars,  to  threaten  and  command ; 

A  station  like  the  herald  Mercury 

New-lighted  on  a  heaven-kissing  hill ; 

A  combination,  and  a  form,  indeed, 

Where  every  god  did  seem  to  set  his  seal, 

To  give  the  world  assurance  of  a  man  : 

This  was  your  husband.  —  Look  you  now  what  follows: 

Here  is  your  husband,  like  a  mildew'd  ear. 

Blasting  his  wholesome  brother.     Have  you  eyes? 

Could  you  on  this  fair  mountain  leave  to  feed, 

And  batten  on  this  moor.?     Ha  !  have  you  eyes.? 

You  cannot  call  it  love  :  for  at  your  age, 

The  hey-day  in  the  blood  is  tame,  it's  humble. 

And  waits  upon  the  judgment,  and  what  judgment 

Would  step  from  this  to  this?     Sense,  sure  you  have. 

Else  could  you  not  have  motion  :   but,  sure,  that  sense 

Is  apoplexed  :  for  madness  would  not  err  ; 

Nor  sense  to  ecstasy  was  ne*er  so  thrall'd 

But  it  reserved  some  quantity  of  choice. 

To  serve  in  such  a  difference.     What  devil  was*t 

That  thus  hath  cozen'd  you  at  hoodman-blind? 

Eyes  without  feeling,  feeling  without  sight. 

Ears  without  hands  or  eyes,  smelling  sans  all, 

Or  but  a  sickly  part  of  one  true  sense 

Could  not  so  mope. 

O  shame  !  where  is  thy  blush?     Rebellious  hell, 

If  thou  canst  mutine  in  a  matron's  bones. 

To  flaming  youth  let  virtue  be  as  wax, 

And  melt  in  her  own  fire  :  proclaim  no  shame, 

When  the  compulsive  ardor  gives  the  charge ; 

Since  frost  itself  as  actively  doth  burn. 

And  reason  panders  w^ili. 

^ueen.     O  Hamlet,  speak  no  more : 
Thou  turn'st  mine  eyes  into  my  very  soul ; 
And  there  I  see  such  black  and  grained  spots 
As  will  not  leave  their  tinct. 


ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS.  141 

Ham.     Nay,  but  to  live  stewed  in  corruption. 

^ueen.     Oh,  speak  to  me  no  more  ; 
These  words,  like  daggers,  enter  in  mine  ears; 
No  more,  sweet  Hamlet. 

Ham,     A  murderer,  and  a  villain  : 
A  slave,  that  is  not  twentieth  part  the  tythe 
Of  your  precedent  lord  ;  —  a  vice  of  kings : 
A  cutpurse  of  the  empire  and  the  rule  ; 
That  from  a  shelf  the  precious  diadem  stole, 
'And  put  it  in  his  pocket! 

^uecn.     No  more. 

Ham,     A  king 
Of  shreds  and  patches  :  —     {Enter  Ghost.) 
Save  me,  and  hover  o'er  me  with  your  wings, 
You  heavenly  guards  !  —  What  would  your  gracious  figure? 

^?ieen,     Alas  !  he's  mad. 

Ham.     Do  you  not  come  your  tardy  son  to  chide, 
That,  lapsed  in  time  and  passion,  lets  go  by 
The  important  acting  of  your  dread  command? 
Oh,  say  ! 

Ghost.     Do  not  forget.    This  visitation 
Is  but  to  whet  thy  almost  blunted  purpose. 
But,  look!   amazement  on  thy  mother  sits: 
Oh,  step  between  her  and  her  fighting  soul; 
Conceit  in  weakest  bodies  strongest  works. 
Speak  to  her,  Hamlet. 

Ham.     How  is  it  with  you,  lady? 

^ueen.     Alas,  how  is't  with  you? 
That  you  do  bend  your  eye  on  vacancy. 
And  with  th'  incorporal  air  do  hold  discourse? 
Forth  at  your  eyes  your  spirits  wildly  peep ; 
And,  as  the  sleeping  soldiers  in  th*  alarm, 
Your  bedded  hair,  like  life  in  excrements 
Starts  up  and  stands  on  end.     Oh,  gentle  son. 
Upon  the  heat  and  flame  of  thy  distemper 
Sprinkle  cool  patience.     Whereon  do  you  look? 


142  ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS. 

Ham.     On    him!    on    him!  —  Look  you,   how   pale   he 
glares ! 
His  form  and  cause  conjoin'd,  preaching  to  stones, 
Would  make  them  capable.  —  Do  not  look  upon  me; 
Lest,  with  this  piteous  action  you  convert 
My  stern  effects :  then  what  I  have  to  do 
Will  want  true  color;  tears,  perchance,  for  blood. 

^ueen.     To  whom  do  you  speak  this? 

Ham.     Do  you  see  nothing  there? 

^ueen.     Nothing  at  all ;  yet  all,  that  is,  I  see. 

Ham,     Nor  did  you  nothing  hear? 

^ueen.     No,  nothing,  but  ourselves. 

Ham.     Why,  look  you  there  !  look,  how  it  steals  away  ! 
My  father,  in  his  habit  as  he  lived  ; 
Look,  where  he  goes,  even  now,  out  at  the  portal ! 

\^Exit  Ghost    j 

^ueen.     This  is  the  very  coinage  of  your  brain  :  ' 

This  bodiless  creation  ecstasy 
Is  very  cunning  in. 

Ha??2.     Ecstasy  I 
My  pulse,  as  yours,  doth  temperately  keep  time, 
And  makes  as  healthful  music :  it  is  not  madness 
That  I  have  utter'd  :  bring  me  to  the  test 
And  I  the  matter  will  re-word,  which  madness 
Would  gambol  from.     Mother,  for  love  of  grace, 
Lay  not  that  flattering  unction  to  your  soul, 
That  not  your  trespass,  but  my  madness,  speaks : 
It  will  but  skin  and  film  the  ulcerous  place  ; 
Whilst  rank  corruption,  mining  all  within, 
Infects  unseen.     Confess  yourself  to  Heaven  : 
Repent  what's  past;  avoid  what  is  to  come; 
And  do  not  spread  the  compost  on  the  weeds, 
To  nnake  them  ranker.     Forgive  me  this  my  virtue : 
For  in  the  fatness  of  these  pursy  times. 
Virtue  itself  of  vice  must  pardon  beg  ; 
Yea,  curb  and  woe,  for  leave  to  do  him  good. 

^2iec7t      O  Hamlet,    thou  hast  cleft  my  heart  in  twain. 


ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS.  143 

Hafn,     Oh,  throw  away  the  worser  part  of  it, 
And  live  the  purer  with  the  other  half. 
Goocl-ni;c^ht :   but  go  not  to  my  uncle*s  bed  ; 
Assume  a  virtue,  if  you  have  it  not. 
That  monster,  custom,  who  all  sense  doth  eat, 
or  habits  devil,  is  angel  yet  in  this  : 
That  to  the  use  of  actions  fiiir  and  good 
He  likewise  gives  a  frock,  or  livery, 
I'hat  aptly  is  put  on.    Refrain  to-night: 
And  that  shall  lend  a  kind  of  easiness 
To  the  next  abstinence:   the  next  more  easy! 
For  use  almost  can  change  the  stamp  of  nature, 
And  either  curb  the  devil,  or  throw  him  out 
Witli  wondrous  potency.     Once  more,  good-night; 
And  when  you  are  desirous  to  be  bless'd, 
ril  blessing  beg  of  you.  —  For  this  same  lord, 

{^Pointing  to  Polonlus^] 
I  do  repent.    But  Heaven  hath  pleased  it  so,  — 
To  punish  me  with  this,  and  this  with  me. 
That  I  must  be  their  scourge  and  minister. 
I  will  bestow  him,  and  will  answer  well 
The  death  I  gave  him.     So,  again,  good-night!  — 
I  must  be  cruel,  only  to  be  kind  : 
Thus  bad  begins,  and  worse  remains  behind.  — 

Shakespeare. 


BARBARA    FRIETCHIE. 

Up  from  the  meadows  rich  with  corn, 
Clear  in  the  cool  September  morn, 

The  clusterM  spires  of  Frederick  stand, 
Green-waird  by  the  hills  of  Maryland. 

Round  about  them  orchards  sweep, 
Apple  and  peach-tree  fruited  deep, 


1-14  ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS. 

Fair  as  a  garden  of  the  Lord, 

To  tlie  eyes  of  the  famish*d  rebel  horde, 

On  that  pleasant  morn  of  the  early  Fall, 
When  Lee  march'd  over  the  mountain  wall, 

Over  the  mountains  winding  down, 
Horse  and  foot,  into  Frederick  town. 

Forty  flags  with  their  silver  stars. 
Forty  flags  with  their  crimson  bars. 

Flapped  in  the  morning  wind  :  the  sun 
Of  noon  looked  down,  and  saw  not  one. 

Up  rose  old  Barbara  Frietchie  then, 
Bow'd  with  her  fourscore  years  and  ten; 

Bravest  of  all  in  Frederick  town, 

She  took  up  the  flag  the  men  haul'd  down. 

In  her  attic-window  the  staft'  she  set, 
To  show  that  one  heart  was  loyal  yet. 

Up  the  street  came  the  rebel  tread, 
Stonewall  Jackson  riding  ahead. 

Under  his  slouched  hat  left  and  right 
He  glanced :  the  old  flag  met  his  sight. 

"  Halt !  "  —  the  dust-brown  ranks  stood  fast ; 
"Fire  !  "  —  out  blazed  the  rifle-blast. 

It  shiver'd  the  window-pane  and  sash, 
It  rent  the  banner  with  seam  and  gash. 

Quick,  as  it  fell  from  the  broken  staff. 
Dame  Barbara  snatched  the  silken  scarf. 

She  lean'd  far  out  on  the  window-sill, 
And  shook  it  forth  with  a  royal  will. 

"  Shoot,  if  you  must,  this  old  gray  head, 
But  spare  your  country's  flag,"  she  said. 


ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS.  145 

A  shade  of  sadness,  a  blush  of  shame, 
Over  the  face  of  the  leader  came ; 

The  nobler  nature  within  him  stirred 
To  life  at  that  woman's  deed  and  word. 

"  Who  touches  a  hair  of  yon  gray  head 
Dies  like  a  dog  !     March  on  !  "  he  said. 

All  day  long  through  Frederick  street 
Sounded  the  tread  of  marching  feet; 

All  day  long  that  free  flag  toss'd 
Over  the  heads  of  the  rebel  host. 

Ever  its  torn  folds  rose  and  fell 

On  the  loyal  winds  that  loved  it  well ; 

And,  through  the  hill-gaps,  sunset  light 
Shone  over  it  with  a  warm  good-night. 

Barbara  Frietchie's  work  is  o'er, 

And  the  rebel  rides  on  his  raids  no  more. 

Honor  to  her !  and  let  a  tear 

Fall,  for  her  sake,  on  Stonewall's  bier. 

Over  Barbara  Frietchie's  grave. 
Flag  of  Freedom  and  Union  wave ! 

Peace  and  order  and  beauty  draw 
Round  thy  symbol  of  light  and  law; 

And  ever  the  stars  above  look  down 
On  thy  stars  below  in  Frederick  town. 

Whittier. 

lO 


146  ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS. 


APPEAL   FOR  STARVING   IRELAND. 

There  lies  upon  the  other  side  of  the  wide  Atlantic  a 
beautiful  island,  famous  in  story  and  in  song.  Its  area  is 
not  so  great  as  that  of  the  State  of  Louisiana,  while  its 
population  is  almost  half  that  of  the  Union.  It  has  given  t  > 
the  world  more  than  its  share  of  genius  and  of  greatne  s. 
It  has  been  prolific  in  statesmen,  warriors,  and  poets.  II.*^ 
brave  and  generous  sons  have  fought  successfully  all  battles 
but  their  own.  In  wit  and  humor  it  has  no  equal ;  while  its 
harp,  like  its  history,  moves  to  tears  by  its  sweet  but  melan- 
choly pathos. 

Into  this  fair  region  God  has  seen  fit  to  send  the  most 
terrible  of  all  those  fearful  ministers  that  fidfil  his  inscru- 
table decrees.  The  earth  has  failed  to  give  her  increase. 
The  common  mother  has  forgotten  her  ofispring,  and  she 
no  longer  affords  them  their  accustomed  nourishment. 
Famine,  gaunt  and  ghastly  famine,  has  seized  a  nation  with 
its  strangling  grasp.  Unhappy  Ireland,  in  the  sad  woes  of 
the  present,  forgets,  for  a  moment,  the  gloomy  history  of  the 
past. 

Oh,  it  is  terrible  that,  in  this  beautiful  world,  which  tlie 
good  God  has  given  us,  and  in  which  there  is  plenty  for 
all,  men  should  die  of  starvation  !  When  a  man  dies  of 
disease,  he,  it  is  true,  endures  the  pain.  But  around  his 
pillow  are  gathered  sympathizing  friends,  who,  if  they  can- 
not keep  back  the  deadly  messenger,  cover  his  face,  :hu1 
conceal  the  horrors  of  his  visage,  as  he  delivers  his  stc-ra 
mandate.  In  battle,  in  the  fulness  of  his  pride  and  strength. 
little  recks  the  soldier  whether  the  hissing  bullet  sings  his 
sudden  requiem,  or  the  cords  of  life  are  severed  by  the 
sharp  steel. 

But  he  who  dies  of  hunger,  wrestles  alone,  day  after  day, 
with  his  grim  and  unrelenting  enemy.  He  has  no  friends 
to  cheer  him  in  the  terrible  conflict;  for,  if  he  had  friends, 
how  could  he  die  of  hunger?     He  has  not  the  hot  blood  of 


ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS.  147 

the  soldier  to  maintain  him  ;  for  his  foe,  vampire-Hke,  has 
exhausted  his  veins.  Famine  comes  not  up,  like  a  brave 
enemy,  storming,  by  a  sudden  onset,  the  fortress  that  resists. 
Famine  besieges.  He  draws  his  lines  round  the  doomed 
garrison.  He  cuts  off  all  supplies.  He  never  summons  to 
surrender,  for  he  gives  no  quarter. 

Alas!  for  poor  human  nature,  how  can  it  sustain  this 
fearful  w^arfare?  Day  by  day  the  blood  recedes  ;  the  flesh 
deserts;  the  muscles  relax,  and  the  sinews  grow  powerless. 
At  last  the  mind,  which  at  first  had  bravely  nerved  itself 
against  the  contest,  gives  way,  under  the  mysterious  in- 
fluences which  govern  its  union  with  the  body.  Then  the 
victim  begins  to  doubt  the  existence  of  an  overruling  Provi- 
tlencc.  He  hates  his  fellow-men,  and  glares  upon  them 
with  the  longing  of  a  cannibal  ;  and,  it  may  be,  dies  blas- 
piieming. 

This    is   one   of  the    cases    in    which    we    may,    without 

impiety,   assume,   as  it  were,    the    function    of  Providence. 

Who  knows  but  that  one  of  the  very  objects  of  this  calamity 

is  to  test  the  benevolence  and  worthiness  of  us,  upon  whom 

unlimited  abundance  is   showered?      In  the   name,  then,  of 

common  humanity,  I  invoke  your  aid   in  behalf  of  starving 

Ireland.     He  who  is  able,  and  will  not   aid  in  such  a  cause, 

is  not  a  man,  and  has  no  right  to  wear  the  form.     He  should 

be  sent  back  to  nature's  mint,  and   reissued   as  a  counterfeit 

on  humanity,  of  nature's  baser  metal. 

S.  S.  Prentiss. 


CHARLIE  MACHREE, 

Come  over,  come  over  the  river  to  me. 

If  ye  are  my  laddie,  bold  Charlie  Machree  ! 

Here's  Mary  McPherson  and  Susy  O'Linn, 

Who  say  you're  faint-hearted,  and  dare  not  plunge  in. 


148  ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS. 

But  the  dark,  rolling  river,  though  deep  as  the  sea, 
I  know  cannot  scare  you,  or  keep  you  from  nie  ; 

For  stout  is  your  back  and  strong  is  your  arm, 
And  the  heart  in  your  bosom  is  faithful  and  warm. 

Come  over,  come  over  the  river  to  me, 
If  ye  are  my  laddie,  bold  Charlie  Machree. 

I  see  him,  I  see  him.     He's  plunged  in  the  tide, 
His  strong  arms  are  dashing  the  big  waves  aside. 

Oh  !  the  dark  rolling  water  shoots  swift  as  the  sea, 
But  blithe  is  the  glance  of  his  bonny  blue  e'e  ; 

His  cheeks  are  like  roses,  twa  buds  on  a  bough  ; 
Who  says  ye're  faint-hearted,  my  brave  laddie,  now. 

Ho,  ho,  foaming  river,  ye  may  roar  as  ye  go. 

But  ye  canna  bear  Charlie  to  the  dark  loch  below  ! 

Come  over,  come  over  the  river  to  me. 

My  true-hearted  laddie,  my  Charlie  Machree  ! 

He's  sinking,  he's  sinking —  Oh,  what  shall  I  do! 
Strike  out,  Charlie,  boldly,  ten  strokes,  and  ye're  thro', 

He's  sinking,  oh  Heaven  !  Ne'er  fear,  man,  ne'er  fear; 
I've  a  kiss  for  ye,  Charlie,  as  soon  as  ye're  here  ! 

He  rises,  I  see  him,  —  five  strokes,  Charlie,  mair, — 
He's  shaking  the  wet  from  his  bonnie  brown  hair; 

He  conquers  the  current,  he  gains  on  the  sea, — 
Ho  !  where  is  the  swimmer  like  Charlie  Machree? 

Come  over  the  river,  but  once  come  to  me, 
And  I'll  love  ye  forever,  dear  Charlie  Machree. 

He's  sinking,  he's  gone  —  Oh,  God,  it  is  I, 

It  is  I,  who  have  killed  him,  —  help,  help  !  — he  must  die  ! 

Help,  help  !  —  ah,  he  rises,  —  strike  out  and  yeVe  free. 
Ho  !  bravely  done,  Charlie,  once  more  now,  for  me ! 


ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS.  149 

Now  cling  to  this  rock,  now  give  me  your  hand,  — 
Ve're  safe,  dearest  Charlie,  ye're  safe  on  the  land ! 

Come  rest  on  my  bosom,  if  there  ye  can  sleep ; 
1  canna  speak  to  ye ;  I  only  can  weep. 

YeVe  crossed  the  wild  river,  yeVe  risked  all  for  me, 
And  ril  part  from  ye  never,  dear  Charlie  Machree  ! 

William  J.  Hoppin. 


EXTRACT  FROM  EMMETS    SPEECH. 

My  Lords  :  What  have  I  to  say,  why  sentence  of  death 
should  not  be  pronounced  on  me,  according  to  law?  I  have 
nothing  to  say  that  can  alter  your  predetermination,  or  that 
it  would  become  me  to  say,  with  any  view  to  the  mitigation 
of  that  sentence  which  you  are  here  to  pronounce,  and  which 
I  must  abide.  But  I  have  much  to  say  which  interests  me 
more  than  that  life  which  you  have  labored  to  destroy.  I 
iiave  muc  to  say,  why  my  reputation  should  be  rescued 
from  the  i  id  of  false  accusation  and  calumny  which  has 
been  heape:    upon  it. 

Were  I  oi  y  to  suffer  death,  after  being  adjudged  guilty 
by  your  tribunal,  I  should  bow  in  silence,  and  meet  the  fate 
that  awaits  me  without  a  murmur.  But  the  sentence  of  the 
law  which  delivers  my  body  to  the  executioner,  will,  through 
the  ministry  of  that  law,  labor  in  its  own  vindication  to  con- 
sign my  character  to  obloquy,  for  there  must  be  guilt  some- 
where ;  whether  in  the  sentence  of  the  court  or  in  the 
catastrophe,  posterity  must  determine. 

When  my  spirit  shall  be  wafted  to  a  more  friendly  port ; 
when  my  shade  shall  have  joined  the  bands  of  those  mar- 
tyred heroes  who  have  shed  their  blood  on  the  scaffold  and 
in  the  field  in  defence  of  their  country  and  virtue,  —  this  is 
my  hope  :  I  wish  that  my  memory  and  name  may  animate 


150  ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS. 

those  who  survive  me,  while  I  look  down  with  complacency 
on  the  destruction  of  that  perfidious  government  which  up- 
holds its  domination  by  blasphemy  of  the  Most  High. 

My  lord,  shall  a  dying  man  be  denied  the  legal  privilege 
of  exculpating  himself,  in  the  eyes  of  the  community,  from 
an  undeserved  reproach  thrown  upon  him  during  his  trial, 
by  charging  him  with  ambition,  and  attempting  to  cast 
away,  for  a  paltry  consideration,  the  liberties  of  his  country? 
Why,  then,  insult  me?  or,  rather,  why  insult  justice  in  de- 
manding of  me  why  sentence  of  death  should  not  be  pro- 
nounced? 

I  am  charged  with  being  an  emissary  of  France !  An 
emissary  of  France  !  And  for  what  end?  It  is  alleged  that 
I  wished  to  sell  the  independence  of  my  country !  And  for 
wliat  end?  Was  this  the  object  of  my  ambition?  and  is  this 
the  mode  by  which  a  tribunal  of  justice  reconciles  contradic- 
tions? No,  I  am  no  emissary;  and  my  ambition  was  to 
hold  a  place  among  the  deliverers  of  my  country  ;  not  in 
power,  not  in  profit,  but  in  the  glory  of  the  achievement! 

Sell  my  country's  independence  to  France !  And  for 
what?  Was  it  for  a  change  of  masters?  No,  but  for  ambi- 
tion !  O  my  country,  was  it  personal  ambition  that  could 
influence  me?  Had  it  been  the  soul  of  my  actions,  could  I 
not  by  my  education  and  fortune,  by  the  rank  and  considera- 
tion of  my  family,  have  placed  myself  among  the  proudest 
of  my  oppressors?  My  country  was  my  idol ;  to  it  I  sacri- 
ficed every  selfish,  every  endearing  sentiment ;  and  for  it  I 
now  oflTer  up  my  life. 

No,  my  lord ;  I  acted  as  an  Irishman,  determined  or. 
delivering  my  country  from  the  yoke  of  a  foreign  and  unre 
lenting  tyranny;  and  from  the  more  galling  yoke  of  a  do- 
mestic faction,  which  is  its  joint  partner  and  perpetrator 
in  tlie  parricide,  whose  reward  is  the  ignominy  of  existing 
with  an  exterior  of  splendor  and  a  consciousness  of  depravity. 
It  was  the  wish  of  my  heart  to  extricate  my  country  from 
this  doubly-rivited  despotism  ;  I  wished  to  place   her  inde- 


ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS.  151 

pendence  beyond  the  reach  of  any  power  on  earth  ;  I  wished 
to  exalt  her  to  that  proud  station  in  the  world. 

Let  no  man  dare,  when  I  am  dead,  to  charge  irje  with  dis- 
honor ;  let  no  man  attaint  my  memory  by  believing  that  I 
could  have  engaged  in  any  cause  but  that  of  my  country's 
liberty  and  independence;  or  that  I  could  have  become  the 
pliant  minion  of  power  in  the  oppression  or  the  miseries  of 
my  countrymen. 

I  would  not  have  submitted  to  a  foreign  oppressor,  for  the 
same  reason  that  I  would  resist  the  domestic  tyrant ;  in  the 
dignity  of  freedom,  I  would  have  fought  upon  the  threshold 
of  my  country,  and  her  enemy  should  enter  only  by  passing 
over  my  lifeless  corpse.  Am  I,  who  lived  but  for  my  coun- 
try, and  who  have  subjected  m^^self  to  the  vengeance  of  the 
jealous  and  watchful  oppressor,  and  now  to  the  bondage  of 
the  grave,  only  to  give  my  countrymen  their  rights,  —  am  I 
to  be  loaded  with  calumny,  and  not  to  be  suffered  to  resent 
or  repel  it?     No  :  God  forbid  ! 

If  the  spirits  of  the  illustrious  dead  participate  in  the  con- 
cerns and  cares  of  those  who  are  dear  to  them  in  this  transi- 
tory life,  Oh,  ever  dear  and  venerated  shade  of  my  departed 
father  !  look  down  with  scrutiny  on  the  conduct  of  your  suf- 
fering son,  and  see  if  I  have  even  for  a  moment  deviated  from 
those  principles  of  morality  and  patriotism  which  it  was 
your  care  to  instil  into  my  youthful  mind,  and  for  an  adher- 
ence to  which  I  am  now  to  offer  up  my  life  ! 

My  lords,  you  are  impatient  for  the  sacrifice.  The  blood 
which  you  >eek  is  not  congealed  by  the  artificial  terrors 
which  surround  your  victim  ;  it  circulates  warmly  and  un- 
niflied  through  the  channels  which  God  created  for  noble 
purposes,  but  which  you  are  bent  to  destroy  for  purposes 
so  grievous  that  they  cry  to  heaven  !  Be  yet  patient !  I  have 
but  a  few  words  more  to  say.  I  am  going  to  my  silent 
grave  ;  my  lamp  of  life  is  nearly  extinguished  ;  my  race  is 
run ;  the  grave  opens  to  receive  me,  and  I  sink  into  its 
bosom. 

I  have  but  one  request  to  ask  at  my  departure  from  this 


152  ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS. 

world  ;  —  it  is  the  charity  of  its  silence.  Let  no  man  write 
my  epitaph  ;  for,  as  no  one  who  knows  my  motives  dares 
now  vindicate  them,  let  not  prejudice  or  ignorance  asperse 
them.  Let  them  and  me  repose  in  obscurity  and  peace,  and 
my  tomb  remain  uninscribed,  until  other  times  and  other 
men  can  do  justice  to  my  character.  When  my  country 
shall  take  her  place  among  the  nations  of  the  earth,  then, 
and  not  till  then,  let  my  epitaph  be  written. 

Robert  Emmei. 


FLOW  GENTLY,  SWEET  A  ETON, 

Flow  gently,  sweet  Afton,  among  thy  green  braes. 
Flow  gently,  I'll  sing  thee  a  song  in  thy  praise  ; 
My  Mary  's  asleep  by  thy  murmuring  stream, 
Flow  gently,  sweet  Afton,  disturb  not  her  dream. 

Thou  stock-dove  whose  echo  resounds  thro'  the  glen, 
Ye  wild  whistling  blackbirds  in  yon  thorny  den, 
Tliou  green-crested  lapwing  thy  screaming  forbear, 
I  charge  you  disturb  not  my  slumbering  fair. 

How  lofty,  sweet  Afton,  thy  neighboring  hills. 
Far  mark'd  with  the  courses  of  clear  winding  rills ; 
There  daily  I  wander  as  noon  rises  high. 
My  flocks  and  my  Mary's  sweet  cot  in  my  eye. 

How  pleasant  thy  banks,  and  green  valleys  below, 
Where  wild  in  the  woodlands  the  primroses  blow ; 
There  oft,  as  mild  evening  weeps  over  the  lea. 
The  sweet-scented  birk  shades  my  Mary  and  me. 

Thy  crystal  stream,  Afton,  how  lovely  it  glides, 
And  winds  by  the  cot  where  my  Mary  resides ; 
How  wanton  thy  waters  her  snowy  feet  lave. 
As,  gathering  sweet  flow'rets,  she  stems  thy  clear  wave. 


ADVANCED   READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS.  153 

Flow  gently,  sweet  Afton,  among  thy  green  braes, 
Flow  gently,  sweet  river,  the  theme  of  my  lays  ; 
My  Mary  's  asleep  by  thy  murmuring  stream. 
Flow  gently,  sweet  Afton,  disturb  not  her  dream. 

Robert  Burns 


EACH  AND   ALL. 


Little  thinks,  in  the  field,  yon  red-cloaked  clown, 

Of  thee  from  the  hill-top  looking  down  ; 

The  heifer  that  lows  in  the  upland  farm, 

Far  heard,  lows  not  thine  ear  to  charm  ; 

The  sexton,  tolling  his  bell  at  noon, 

Deems  not  that  great  Napoleon 

Stops  his  horse,  and  lists  with  delight, 

Whilst  his  files  sweep  round  yon  Alpine  height; 

Nor  knowest  thou  what  argument 

Thy  life  to  thy  neighbor's  creed  has  lent. 

All  are  needed  by  each  one  ; 

Nothing  is  fair  or  good  alone. 

I  thought  the  sparrow's  note  from  heaven, 
Singing  at  dawn  on  the  alder-bough  ; 
I  brought  him  home,  in  his  nest,  at  even  ; 
He  sings  the  song,  but  it  pleases  not  now. 
For  I  did  not  bring  home  the  river  and  sky ;  — 
He  sang  to  my  ear,  —  they  sang  to  my  eye. 

The  delicate  shells  lay  on  the  shore  ; 

The  bubbles  of  the  latest  wave 

Fresh  pearls  to  their  enamel  gave ; 

And  the  bellowing  of  the  savage  sea 

Greeted  their  safe  escape  to  me. 

I  wiped  away  the  weeds  and  foam, 

I  fetched  my  sea-born  treasures  home ; 

But  the  poor,  unsightly,  noisome  things 

Had  left  their  beauty  on  the  shore, 

With  the  sun,  and  the  sand,  and  the  wild  uproar. 


154  ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS. 

The  lover  watched  his  graceful  maid, 

As  'mid  the  virgin  train  she  strayed, 

Nor  knew  her  beauty's  best  attire 

Was  woven  still  by  the  snow-white  choir. 

At  last  she  came  to  his  hermitage, 

Like  the  bird  from  the  woodlands  to  the  cage ;  — 

The  gay  enchantment  was  undone, 

A  gentle  wife,  but  fairy  none. 

Then  I  said,  "  I  covet  truth  ; 

Beauty  is  unripe  childhood's  cheat ; 

I  leave  it  behind  with  the  games  of  youth."  — 

As  I  spoke,  beneath  my  feet 

The  ground-pine  curled  its  pretty  wreath, 

Running  over  the  club-moss  burrs  ; 

I  inhaled  the  violet's  breath  ; 

Around  me  stood  the  oaks  and  firs ; 

Pine-cones  and  acorns  lay  on  the  ground; 

Over  me  soared  the  eternal  sky, 

Full  of  hght  and  of  deity  ; 

Again  I  saw,  again  I  heard, 

The  rolling  river,  the  morning  bird  ;  — 

Beauty  through  my  senses  stole ; 

I  3'ielded  myself  to  the  perfect  whole. 

R.  W.  Emerson. 


EULOGY  ON  AMERICA, 

The  mention  of  America,  sir,  has  never  failed  to  fill  me 
w'th  the  most  lively  emotions.  In  my  earliest  infancy, — 
that  tender  season  when  impressions,  at  once  the  most  per- 
manent and  the  most  powerful,  are  likely  to  be  excited, — 
the  story  of  her  then  recent  struggle  raised  a  throb  in  every 
heart  that  loved  liberty,  and  wrung  a  reluctant  tribute  even 
fro'o   iiscomfited  oppression. 


ADVANCED    READINGS    ADD    RECITATIONS.  155 

1  saw  her  spurning  alike  the  hixuries  that  would  enervate, 
and  the  legions  that  would  intimidate;  dashing  from  her 
lips  the  poisoned  cup  of  European  servitude;  and)  through 
all  the  vicissitudes  of  her  protracted  conflict,  displaying  a 
magnanimity  that  defied  misfortune,  and  a  moderation  that 
gave  new  grace  to  victory.  It  was  tlie  first  vision  of  my 
childhood  :  it  will  descend  with  me  to  the  grave.  But  if, 
as  a  man,  I  venerate  the  mention  of  America,  what  must  be 
my  feelings  toward  her  as  an  Irishman  !  Never,  oh  !  never, 
while  memory  reinains,  can  Ireland  forget  the  home  of  her' 
emigrant,  and  the  asylum  of  her  exile  ! 

No  matter  whether  their  sorrows  sprung  from  the  errors 
of  enthusiasm  or  the  realities  of  suflering  ;  from  fancy  or  in- 
fliction :  that  must  be  reserved  for  the  scrutiny  of  those, 
whom  the  lapse  of  time  shall  acquit  of  partiality.  It  is  for 
the  men  of  other  ages  to  investigate  and  record  it ;  but, 
surely,  it  is  for  the  men  of  every  age  to  hail  the  hospitality 
that  received  the  shelterless,  and  love  the  feeling  that  be- 
friended the  unfortunate. 

Search  creation  round,  and  where  can  you  find  a  country 
that  presents  so  sublime  a  view,  so  interesting  in  anticipa- 
tion? What  noble  institutions!  What  a  comprehensive 
policy  !  What  a  wise  equalization  of  every  political  advan- 
tage !  The  oppressed  of  all  countries,  the  martyr  of  every 
creed,  the  innocent  victim  of  despotic  arrogance,  of  super- 
stitious frenzy,  may  there  find  refuge  ;  his  industry  encour- 
aged ;  his  piety  respected  ;  his  ambition  animated  ;  with  no 
restraint  but  those  laws  which  are  the  same  to  all ;  and  no 
distinction  but  that  which  his  merit  may  originate. 

Who  can  deny  that  the  existence  of  such  a  country  pre- 
sents a  subject  of  human  congratulation.'^  Who  can  deny 
that  its  gigantic  advancement  offers  a  field  for  the  most  ra- 
tional conjecture  ?  At  the  end  of  the  very  next  century,  if 
she  proceeds  as  she  seems  to  promise,  what  a  wondrous 
spectacle  may  she  not  exhibit !  Who  shall  say  for  what 
purpose   a   mysterious  Providence   may   not  have   designed 


156  ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS. 

her?  Who  shall  say,  that,  when,  in  its  follies  or  its  crimes, 
the  Old  World  may  have  interred  all  the  pride  of  its  power, 
and  all  the  pomp  of  its  civilization,  human  nature  tnay  not 
find  its  destined  renovation  in  the  New? 

Charles  Phillips. 


HOW  HE   SAVED  ST.  MICHAELS. 

So  you  beg  for  a  story,  my  darling,  my  brown-eyed  Leopold, 
And  you,  Alice,  with   face   like  morning,  and  curling  locks 

of  gold  ; 
Then  come,  if  you  will,  and  listen  —  stand  close  beside  my 

knee  — 
To  a  tale  of  the  Southern  city,  proud  Charleston  by  the  sea. 

It  was  long  ago,  my  children,  ere  ever  the  signal-gun 

That  blazed  above  Fort  Sumter  had  wakened  the  North  as 

one  ; 
Long  ere  the  wondrous  pillar  of  battle-cloud  and  fire 
Had  marked  where  the  unchained  millions  marched  on  to 

their  hearts'  desire. 

On  the  roofs  and  the  glittering  turrets,  that  night,  as  the  sun 

went  down. 
The   mellow   glow  of  the    twilight    shone    like   a  jewelled 

crown  ; 
And,  bathed  in  the  living  glory,  as  the  people  lifted  their 

eyes, 
They  saw  the  pride  of  the  city,  the  spire  of  St.  Michaers,  rise 

High  over  the  lesser  steeples,  tipped  with  a  golden  ball. 
That  hung  like  a  radiant  planet  caught  in  its  earthward  fall : 
First  glimpse  of  home  to  the  sailor  who  made  the  harbor- 
round, 
And  last  slow-fading  vision  dear  to  the  outward  bound. 


ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS.  157 

The  gently  gathering  shadows  shut  out  the  waning  light; 
The  children  prayed  at  their  bedsides,  as  you  will  pray  to^ 

night ; 
The  noise  of  buyer  and  seller  from  the  busy  mart  was  gone  ; 
And  in  dreams  of  a  peaceful  morrow  the  city  slumbered  on. 

But  another  light  than  sunrise  aroused  the  sleeping  street; 
P'or  a  cry  was  heard  at  midnight,  and  the  rush  of  trampling 

feet ; 
Men  stared  in  each  other's  faces  through  mingled  fire  and 

smoke, 
While  the  frantic  bells  went  clashing,  clamorous  stroke  on 

stroke. 

By  the  glare  of  her  blazing  roof-tree  the  houseless  mother 
fled. 

With  the  babe  she  pressed  to  her  bosom  shrieking  in  name- 
less dread  ; 

\Vliile  the  fire-king's  wild  battalions  scaled  wall  and  cap- 
stone high, 

And  planted  their  flaring  banners  against  an  inky  sky. 

From  the  death  that  raged  behind  them,  and  the  crash  of  ruin 

loud. 
To  the  great  square  of  the  city,  were  driven   the   surging 

crowd ; 
Where  yet,  firm  in  all  the  tumult,  unscathed  by  the  fiery 

flood. 
With   its  heavenward -pointing   finger,   the   Church  of   St. 

Michael's  stood. 

But  e'en  as  they  gazed  upon  it  there  rose  a  sudden  wail,  — 
A  cry  of  horror,  blended  with  the  roaring  of  the  gale. 
On  whose  scorching  wings  up-driven,  a  single  flaming  brand 
Aloft  on  the  towering  steeple  clung  like  a  bloody  hand. 

''Will   it  fade?"     The  whisper  trembled  from  a  thousand 

whitening  lips ; 
Far  out  on  the  lurid  harbor,  they  watched  it  from  the  ships, 


158  ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS. 

A  baleful  gleam  that  brighter  and  ever  brighter  shone, 
Like  a  flickering,  trembling  will-o'-wisp  to  a  steady  beacon 
grown. 

"  Uncounted  gold  shall  be  given  to  the  man  whose  brave 

right  hand. 
For  the  love  of  the  perilled  city,  plucks  down  yon  burning 

brand  ! '' 
So  cried  the  mayor  of  Charleston,  that  all  the  people  heard  ; 
But  they  looked  each  one  at  his  fellow,  and  no  man  spoke 

a  word. 

Who  is  it  leans  from  the  belfry,  with  face  upturned  to  the 

sky, 
Clings  to  a  column,  and  measures  the  dizzy  spire  with  his 

eye  ? 
Will  he  dare  it,  the  hero  undaunted,  that  terrible  sickening 

height  ? 
Or  will  the   hot  blood  of  his  courage  freeze  in  his  veins  at 

the  sight  ? 

But  see!  he  has  stepped  on  the  railing;  he  climbs  with  his 
feet  and  his  hands, 

And  firm  on  a  narrow  projection,  with  the  belfry  beneath 
him,  he  stands ; 

Now  once,  and  once  only,  they  cheer  him,  —  a  single,  teni- 
pestuous  breath, — 

And  there  falls  on  the  multitude  gazing  a  hush  like  the  still- 
ness of  death. 

Slow,  steadily  mounting,  unheeding  aught  save  the  goal  of 

the  fire. 
Still  higher  and  higher,  an  atom,  he  moves  on  the  face  of 

the  spire. 
He  stops  !     Will  he  fall  ?     Lo  !  for  answer,  a  gleam  like  a 

meteor's  track. 
And,  hurled  on  the  stones  of  the  pavement,  the  red  brand 

lies  shattered  and  black. 


ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS.  159 

Once  more  the  shouts  of  the  people  have  rent  the  quivering 

air : 
At  the  church-door  mayor  and  council  wait  with  their  feet 

on  the  stair ; 
And  the  eager  throng  behind  them  press  for  a  touch  of  his 

hand, — 
The  unknown  savior,  whose  daring  could  compass  a  deed 

so  grand. 

But  why  does  a   sudden   tremor  seize  on  them  while  they 

gaze  ? 
And    what    meaneth    that    stifled    murmur    of  wonder  and 

amaze  ? 
He  stood  in  the  gate  of  tlie  temple  he  had  perilled  his  life 

to  save ; 
And  the  face  of  the  hero,  my  children,  was  the  sable  face 

of  a  slave ! 

With  folded  arms  he  was  speaking,  in  tones  that  were  clear, 

not  loud, 
And  his  eyes,  ablaze  in  their  sockets,  burnt  into  the  eyes  of 

the  crowd  :  — 
"  You  may  keep  your  gold  :  I  scorn  it !  —  but  answer  me, 

ye  who  can. 
If  the  deed  I  have  done  before  you  be  not  the  deed  of  a 

man  ?  " 

He  stepped  but  a  short  space  backward ;  and  from  all  the 

women  and  men 
There  were  only  sobs  for  answer ;   and  the  mayor  called  for 

a  pen, 

And  the  great  seal  of  the  city,  that  he  might  read  who  ran  r 

And   the  slave  who  saved  St.  Michael's  went  out  from  its 

door,  a  man. 

M.  A.  P.  Stansbury. 


160  ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS. 


HAMLET'S  SOLILOQUY. 

To  be  —  or  not  to  be  —  that  is  the  question  : 

Whether  'tis  nobler  in  the  mind,  to  suffer 

The  slings  and  arrows  of  outrageous  fortune ; 

Or  to  take  arms  against  a  sea  of  troubles, 

And,  by  opposing,  end  them?  To  die, —  to  sleep  ;  ^ 

No  more ;    and  by  a  sleep,  to  say  we  end 

The  heart-ache,  and  the  thousand  natural  shocks 

That  flesh  is  heir  to,  —  'tis  a  consummation 

Devoutly  to  be  wish'd.      To  die, —  to  sleep  ;  — 

To  sleep  !  perchance  to  dream  !  —  ay,    there's  the  rub  ; 

For,  in  that  sleep  of  death,  what  dreams  may  come, 

When  we  have  shuffled  cffthis  mortal  coil, 

Must  give  us  pause. 

There's  the  respect 
That  makes  calamity  of  so  long  life  ; 
For  who  would  bear  the  whips  and  scorns  of  time. 
The  oppressor's  wrong,  the  proud  man's  contumely, 
The  pangs  of  despiz'd  love,  the  law's  delay. 
The  insolence  of  office,  and  the  spurns 
That  patient  merit  of  the  unworthy  takes. 
When  he  himself  might  his  quietus  make 
With  a  bare  bodkin? 

Who  would  fardels  bear, 
To  groan  and  sweat  under  a  weary  life ; 
But  that  the  dread  of  something  after  death, — 
That  undiscover'd  country,  from  whose  bourn 
No  traveller  returns,  —  puzzles  the  will, 
And  makes  us  rather  bear  those  ills  we  have 
Than  fly  to  others  that  we  know  not  of  ? 
Thus  conscience  does  make  cowards  of  us  all; 
And  thus  the  native  hue  of  resolution 
Is  sicklied  o'er  with  the  pale  cast  of  thought; 
i\nd  enterprises  of  great  pith  and  moment, 
With  this  regard,  their  currents  turn  awry. 
And  lose  the  name  of  action.  Shakespearr 


ADVANCED    READINGS   AND    RECITATIONS.  161 


EULOGY  ON  LAFAYETTE. 

While  we  bring  our  oMerings  for  the  mighty  of  our  own 
land,  siiall  we  not  remember  the  chivahous  spirits  of  other 
shores,  who  shared  with  them  tlie  hour  of  weakness  and 
woe  !  Pile  to  the  clouds  tlie  majestic  columns  of  glory  ;  let 
the  lips  of  those  who  can  speak  well,  hallow  each  spot 
where  the  bones  of  your  bold  repose  ;  but  forget  not  those 
who,  with  your  bold,  went  out  to  battle  ! 

Among  these  men  of  noble  daring,  tliere  was  one,  a  young 
and  gallant  stranger,  who  left  the  blushing  vine-hills  of  his 
delightful  France.  The  people  whom  he  came  to  succor 
were  not  his  people  ;  he  knew  them  only  in  the  melancholy 
story  of  their  wrongs.  He  was  no  mercenary  wretch,  striv- 
ing for  the  spoil  of  the  vanquished  ;  the  palace  acknowl- 
edged him  for  its  lord,  and  tlie  valleys  yielded  him  their 
increase.  He  was  no  nameless  man,  staking  life  for  reputa- 
tion ;  he  ranked  among  nobles,  and  looked  unawed  upon 
kings.  He  was  no  friendless  outcast,  seeking  for  a  grave  to 
hide  his  cold  heart ;  he  was  girdled  by  the  companions  of 
his  childhood  ;  his  kinsmen  were  about  him  ;  his  wife  was 
before  him. 

Yet  from  all  those  he  turned  away  and  came.  Like  a 
lofty  tree,  that  shakes  down  its  green  glories  to  battle  with 
the  winter's  storm,  he  flung  aside  the  trappings  of  place  and 
pride  to  crusade  for  Freedom,  in  Freedom's  holy  land.  He 
came  ;  but  not  in  the  day  of  successful  rebellion  ;  not  when 
the  new-risen  sun  of  Independence  had  burst  the  cloud  of 
Lime,  and  careered  to  its  place  in  the  heavens.  He  came 
when  darkness  curtained  the  hills,  and  the  tempest  was 
abroad  in  its  anger ;  when  the  plough  stood  still  in  the  field 
of  promise,  and  briers  cumbered  the  garden  of  beauty ; 
when  fathers  were  dying,  and  mothers  were  weeping  over 
them  ;  when  the  wife  was  binding  up  the  gashed  bosom  of 
her  husband,  and  the  maiden  was  wiping  the  death-damp 
II 


162  ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS. 

from  the  brow  of  her  lover.  He  came  when  the  brave  be- 
gan to  fear  the  power  of  man,  and  the  pious  to  doubt  the 
favor  of  God. 

It  was  then  that  this  one  joined  the  ranks  of  a  revolted 
people.  Freedom's  little  phalanx  bade  him  a  grateful  wel- 
come. With  them  he  courted  the  battle's  rage ;  with  theirs, 
his  arm  was  lifted  ;  with  theirs,  his  blood  was  shed.  Long 
and  doubtful  was  the  conflict.  At  length,  kind  Heaven 
shiiled  on  the  good  cause,  and  the  beaten  invaders  fled.  The 
profane  were  driven  from  the  temple  of  Liberty,  and,  at  her 
pure  shrine,  the  pilgrim  warrior,  with  his  adored  com- 
mander, knelt  and  worshipped.  Leaving  there  his  oflering, 
the  incense  of  an  uncorr  jpted  spirit,  he  at  length  arose,  and, 
crowned  with  benedictions,  turned  his  happy  feet  toward  his 
long-deserted  home. 

After  nearly  fifty  years,  that  one  has  come  again.  Can 
mortal  tongue  tell,  can  mortal  heart  feel,  the  sublimity  of 
that  coming?  Exulting  millions  rejoice  in  it:  and  the  long, 
loud,  transporting  shout,  like  the  mingling  of  many  winds, 
rolls  on,  undying,  to  Freedom's  farthest  mountains.  A  con- 
gregated nation  comes  around  him.  Old  men  bless  him 
and  children  reverence  him.  The  lovely  come  out  to  look 
upon  him  ;  the  learned  deck  their  halls  to  greet  him  ;  the 
rulers  of  the  land  rise  up  to  do  him  homage.  How  his  full 
heart  labors!  He  views  the  rusting  trophies  of  departed 
days ;  he  treads  upon  the  high  places  where  his  brethren 
moulder  ;  he  bends  before  the  tomb  of  his  father;  his  words 
are  tears,  the  speech  of  sad  remembrance.  But  he  looks 
around  upon  a  ransomed  land  and  a  joyous  race ;  he  beholds 
the  blessings,  those  trophies  secured,  for  which  those  breth- 
ren died,  for  which  that  father  lived  ;  and  again  his  words 
are  tears,  the  eloquence  of  gratitude  and  joy. 

Spread  forth  creation  like  a  map  ;  bid  earth's  dead  mul- 
titude revive  ;  and  of  all  the  pageants  that  ever  glittered  to 
the  sun,  when  looked  his  burning  eye  on  a  sight  like  this? 
Of  all  the  myriads  that  have  come  and  gone,  what  cherished 
minion  ever  ruled  an  hour  like  this?     Many  have  struck  the 


ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS.  163 

redeeming  blow  for  their  own  freedom  ;  but  who,  like  this 
man,  has  bared  his  bosom  in  the  cause  of  strangers?  Others 
have  lived  in  the  love  of  their  own  people  ;  but  who,  like 
this  man,  has  drunk  his  sweetest  cup  of  welcome  with 
another?  Matchless  chief!  Of  glory's  immortal  tablets, 
there  is  one  for  him,  for  him  alone  !  Oblivion  shall  never 
shroud  its  splendor;  the  everlasting  flame  of  liberty  shall 
guard  it  that  the  generations  of  men  may  repeat  the  name 
recorded  there,  the  beloved  name  of  Lafayette. 

Charles  Sprague. 


I 


GOODY  BLAKE  AND  HARRY  GILL, 

Oh!   what's  the  matter?  what's  the  matter? 

What  is't  that  ails  young  Harry  Gill? 
That  evermore  his  teeth  they  chatter, 

Chatter,  chatter,  chatter  still. 
Of  waistcoats  Harry  lias  no  lack. 

Good  duffle  gray,  and  flannel  fine ; 
He  has  a  blanket  on  his  back, 

And  coats  enough  to  smother  nine. 

In  March,  December,  and  in  July, 

'Tis  all  the  same  with  Harry  Gill ; 
The  neighbors  tell,  and  tell  you  truly, 

His  teeth  they  chatter,  chatter  still. 
At  night,  at  morning,  and  at  noon, 

'Tis  all  the  same  with  Harry  Gill ; 
Beneath  the  sun,  beneath  the  moon, 

His  teeth  they  chatter,  chatter  still. 

Young  Harry  was  a  lusty  drover, 
And  who  so  stout  of  limb  as  he? 

His  cheeks  were  red  as  ruddy  clover, 
His  voice  was  like  the  voice  of  three. 


164  ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS. 

Auld  Goody  Blake  was  old  and  poor, 
111  fed  she  was,  and  thinly  clad  ; 

And  any  man  who  passed  her  door, 
Might  see  how  poor  a  hut  she  had. 

All  day  she  spun  in  her  poor  dwelling. 

And  then  her  three  hours'  work  at  night ! 
Alas !  'twas  hardly  worth  the  telling, 

It  would  not  pay  for  candle-light. 
This  woman  dwelt  in  Dorsetshire, 

Her  hut  was  on  a  cold  hill-side, 
And  in  that  country  coals  are  dear. 

For  they  come  far  by  wind  and  tide. 

By  the  same  fire  to  boil  their  pottage, 

Two  poor  old  dames,  as  I  have  known, 
Will  often  live  in  one  small  cottage, 

But  she,  poor  woman,  dwelt  alone. 
'Twas  well  enough  when  summer  came. 

The  long,  warm,  lightsome  summer  day; 
Then  at  her  door  the  canty  dame 

Would  sit,  as  any  linnet  gay. 

But  when  the  ice  our  streams  did  fetter. 

Oh,  then  how  her  old  bones  would  shake  I 
You  would  have  said,  if  you  had  met  her, 

'Twas  a  hard  time  for  Goody  Blake. 
Her  evenings  then  were  dull  and  dread : 

Sad  case  it  was,  as  you  may  think, 
For  very  cold  to  go  to  bed, 

And  then  for  cold  not  sleep  a  wink. 

Oh,  joy  for  her  !  whene'er  in  vsanter 
The  winds  at  night  had  made  a  rout, 

And  scattered  many  a  lusty  splinter, 
And  many  a  rotten  bough  about. 


I 


ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS.  165 

Yet  never  had  she,  well  or  sick, 

As  every  man  who  knew  her  says, 
A  pile  beforehand,  wood  or  stick, 

Enough  to  warm  her  for  three  days. 

Now  when  the  frost  was  past  enduring, 

And  made  her  poor  old  bones  to  ache, 
Could  anything-  be  more  alluring. 

Than  an  old  hedge  to  Goody  Blake? 
And  now  and  then,  it  must  be  said, 

When  her  old  bones  were  cold  and  chill, 
She  left  her  fire,  or  left  her  bed, 

To  seek  the  hedge  of  Harry  Gill. 

Now  Harry  he  had  long  suspected 

This  trespass  of  old  Goody  Blake, 
And  vow'd  that  she  should  be  detected, 

And  he  on  her  would  vengeance  take. 
And  oft  from  his  warm  fire  he'd  go. 

And  to  the  fields  his  road  would  take, 
And  there,  at  night,  in  frost  and  snow, 

He  watch'd  to  seize  old  Goody  Blake. 

And  once  behind  a  rick  of  barley, 

Thus  looking  out  did  Harry  stand ; 
The  moon  was  full  and  shining  clearly. 

And  crisp  with  frost  the  stubble-land. 
He  hears  a  noise  —  he's  all  awake  — 

Again  !  —  on  tiptoe  down  the  hill 
He  softly  creeps  —  'Tis  Goody  Blake! 

She's  at  the  hedge  of  Harry  Gill. 

Right  glad  was  he  when  he  beheld  her: 

Stick  after  stick  did  Goody  pull : 
He  stood  behind  a  bush  of  elder, 

Till  she  had  fill'd  her  apron  full. 


166  ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONSo 

When  with  her  load  she  turned  about, 
The  by-road  back  again  to  take, 

He  started  forward  with  a  shout. 

And  sprang  upon  poor  Goody  Blake. 

And  fiercely  by  the  arm  he  took  her. 

And  by  the  arm  he  held  her  fast. 
And  fiercely  by  the  arm  he  shook  her. 

And  cried,  "  Fve  caught  you  then  at  last !  '* 
Then  Goody,  who  had  nothing  said. 

Her  bundle  from  her  lap  let  fall ; 
And  kneeling  on  the  sticks,  she  prayed 

To  God  that  is  the  Judge  of  all. 

She  prayed,  her  withered  hand  uprearing, 

While  Harry  held  her  by  the  arm, — 
"  God  !  who  art  never  out  of  hearing, 

O  may  he  never  more  be  warm  !  " 
The  cold,  cold  moon  above  her  head, 

Thus  on  her  knees  did  Goody  pray: 
Young  Harry  heard  what  she  had  said. 

And  icy  cold  he  turnVl  away. 

He  went  complaining  all  the  morrow 

That  he  was  cold  and  very  chill : 
His  face  was  gloom,  his  heart  was  sorrow, 

Alas  that  day  for  Harry  Gill  T 
That  day  he  wore  a  riding-coat, 

But  not  a  whit  the  warmer  he: 
Another  was  on  Thursday  brought. 

And  ere  the  Sabbath  he  had  three. 

'Twas  all  in  vain,  a  useless  matter. 
And  blankets  were  about  him  pinn'd : 

Yet  still  his  jaws  and  teeth  they  clatter, 
Like  a  loose  casement  in  the  wind. 


ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS.  167 

And  Harry's  flesh  it  fell  away; 

And  all  who  see  him  say  'tis  plain, 
That  live  as  long  as  live  he  may, 

He  never  will  be  warm  again. 

No  word  to  any  man  he  utters, 

Abed  or  up,  to  young  or  old ; 
But  ever  to  himself  he  mutters, 

"  Poor  Harry  Gill  is  very  cold." 
Abed  or  up,  by  night  or  day, 

His  teeth  may  chatter,  chatter  still : 
Now  think,  ye  farmers  all,  I  pray, 

Of  Goody  Blake  and  Harry  Gill. 

Wordsworth. 


INSTIGA  TION  SCENE.     JULIUS  C^SAR. 

Brutus,      What    means   this    shouting?      I    do    fear    th<> 
people 
Choose  Cassar  for  their  king. 

Cassius.     Ay,  do  you  fear  it.^* 
Then  must  I  think  you  would  not  have  it  so. 

Brutus.     I  would  not,  Cassius  ;  yet  I  love  him  well.— ^ 
But  wherefore  do  you  hold  me  here  so  long.? 
What  is  it  t>»at  you  would  impart  to  me? 
If  it  be  aught  toward  the  general  good. 
Set  honor  in  one  eye,  and  death  i'  the  other, 
And  I  will  look  on  death  indifferently : 
For,  let  the  gods  so  speed  me,  as  I  love 
The  name  of  honor  more  than  I  fear  death, 

Cassius,     I  know  that  virtue  to  be  in  you,  Brutus, 
As  well  as  I  do  know  your  outward  favor. 
Well,  honor  is  the  subject  of  my  story ^ — 
I  cannot  tell,  what  you  and  other  men 
Think  of  this  life  ;  but,  for  my  single  self, 
I  had  as  lief  not  be,  as  live  to  be 


168  ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS. 

In  awe  of  such  a  thing  as  I  myself. 
I  was  born  free  as  Caesar  ;  so  were  you  : 
We  both  have  fed  as  well ;  and  we  can  both 
Endure  the  winter's  cold,  as  well  as  he. 
For  once,  upon  a  raw  and  gusty  day, 
The  troubled  Tiber  chafing  with  his  shores, 
Caesar  said  to  vc\q^^^ Dar* st  thou^  Cassius^  now 
Leap  in  with  me  into  this  angry  flood ^ 
And  swim  to  yonder  point?^^ — Upon  the  word, 
Accouter'd  as  I  was,  I  plunged  in, 
And  bade  him  follow  ;  so,  indeed,  he  did. 
The  torrent  roar'd  ;  and  we  did  buffet  it 
With  lusty  sinews  ;   throwing  it  aside 
And  stemming  it  with  hearts  of  controversy. 
But  ere  we  could  arrive  the  point  proposed, 
Caesar  cried, ''Z^<?/^  7ne^  Cassius^  or  I sink^ 
I,  as  yEneas,  our  great  ancestor, 
Did  from  the  flames  of  Troy  upon  his  shoulder 
The  old  Anchises  bear,  so,  from  the  waves  of  Tiber 
Did  I  the  tired  Caesar.      And  this  man 
Is  now  become  a  god  ;  and  Cassius  is 
A  wretched  creature,  and  must  bend  his  body, 
If  Caesar  carelessly  but  nod  on  him. 
He  had  a  fever  when  he  was  in  Spain, 
And,  when  the  fit  was  on  him,  I  did  mark 
How  he  did  shake  :  'tis  true,  this  god  did  shake: 
His  coward  lips  did  from  their  color  fly ; 
And  that  same  eye,  whose  bend  doth  awe  the  world, 
Did  lose  his  lustre,    I  did  hear  him  groan: 
Ay,  and  that  tongue  of  his,  that  bade  the  Romans 
Mark  him,  and  write  his  speeches  in  their  books, 
Alas  !  it  cried.  Give  me  soine  drink ^  Titinius^ 
As  a  sick  girl.     Ye  gods,  it  doth  amaze  me, 
A  man  of  such  a  feeble  temper  should 
So  get  the  start  of  the  majestic  world, 
And  bear  the  palm  alone.  {Shout,     Flourish.^ 

Brutus,     Another  general  shout ! 


ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS.  169 

I  do  believe,  that  these  applauses  are 

For  some  new  honors  that  are  heap'd  on  Cnesar. 

Cassius.     Why,  man,  he  doth  bestride  the  narrow  world 
Like  a  Colossus,  and  we  petty  men 
Walk  under  his  huge  legs,  and  peep  about 
To  find  ourselves  dishonorable  graves. 
Men  at  some  time  are  masters  of  their  fates; 
The  fault,  dear  Brutus,  is  not  in  our  stars. 
But  in  ourselves,  that  we  are  underlings. 
Brutus,  and  Caesar:  what  should  be  in  that  Caesar? 
Why  should  that  name  be  sounded  more  than  yours? 
Write  them  together,  yours  is  as  fair  a  name, 
Sound  them,  it  doth  become  the  mouth  as  well ; 
Weigh  them,  it  is  as  heavy  ;  conjure  with  them. 
Brutus  will  start  a  spirit  as  soon  as  Caesar.  {S^ouL] 

Now  in  the  names  of  all  the  gods  at  once,  ' 

Upon  what  meat  doth  this  our  Caesar  feed. 
That  he  is  grown  so  great  .^     Age,  thou  art  shamed  ! 
Rome,  thou  hast  lost  the  breed  of  noble  bloods  ! 
When  went  there  by  an  age,  since  the  great  flood, 
But  it  was  famed  with  more  than  with  one  man? 
When  could  they  say,  till  now,  that  talk'd  of  Rome, 
That  her  wide  walks  encompassed  but  one  man? 
Now  is  it  Rome  indeed,  and  room  enough, 
When  there  is  in  it  but  one  only  man. 
Oh  !  you  and  I  have  heard  our  fathers  say. 
There  was  a  Brutus  once,  that  would  have  brook'd 
The  eternal  devil  to  keep  his  state  in  Rome, 
As  easily  as  a  king.  Shakespeare. 


170  ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS. 


INVECTIVE  AGAINST  MR,  FLOOD. 

It  is  not  the  slander  of  an  evil  tongue  that  can  defame  me. 
I  maintain  my  reputation  in  public  and  in  private  life.  No 
man  who  has  not  a  bad  character  can  ever  say  that  I  de- 
ceived ;  no  country  can  call  me  cheat.  But  I  will  suppose 
such  a  public  character.  I  will  suppose  such  a  man  to  have 
existence.  I  will  begin  with  his  character  in  its  political 
cradle,  and  I  will  follow  him  to  the  last  state  of  political  dis- 
solution. I  will  sup[)ose  him,  in  the  first  stage  of  his  life,  to 
have  been  intemperate;  in  the  second  to  have  been  corrupt; 
and  in  the  last  seditious ;  that  after  an  envenomed  attack 
upon  the  persons  and  measures  of  a  succession  of  viceroys, 
and  after  much  declamation  against  their  illegalities  and 
their  profusion,  he  took  office,  and  became  a  supporter  of 
government  when  the  profusion  of  ministers  had  greatly 
increased,  and  their  crimes  multiplied  beyond  example. 
At  such  a  critical  moment  I  will  suppose  this  gentleman  to 
be  corrupted  by  a  great  sinecure  office  to  muzzle  his  dec- 
lamation, to  swallow  his  invectives,  to  give  his  assent  and 
vote  to  the  ministers,  and  to  become  a  supporter  of  gov- 
ernment, its  measures,  its  embargo,  and  its  American  war. 
I  will  suppose,  that  with  respect  to  the  Constitution  of  his 
country,  that  part,  for  instance,  which  regarded  the  Mutiny 
Bill,  when  a  clause  of  reference  was  introduced,  whereby 
the  articles  of  war,  which  were  —  or  hereafter  might  be  — 
passed  in  England,  should  be  current  in  Ireland  without  the 
interference  of  Parliament  —  when  such  a  clause  was  in 
view,  I  will  suppose  this  gentleman  to  have  absconded. 
Again,  when  the  bill  was  made  perpetual,  I  will  suppose 
him  again  to  have  absconded  ;  but  a  year  and  a  half  after 
the  bill  had  passed,  then  I  will  suppose  this  gentleman  to 
have  come  forward,  and  to  say  that  your  Constitution  had 
been  destroyed  by  the  Perpetual  Bill. 

With  respect  to  commerce,  I  will  suppose  this  gentleman 
to  have  supported  an  embargo  which  lay  on  the  country  foi 


ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS.  171 

three  years,  and  almost  destroyed  it;  and  when  an  address 
in  177^5  ^^  open  her  trade,  was  propounded,  to  remain  silent 
and  inactive.  In  relation  to  three-fourths  of  our  fellow- 
subjects,  the  Catholics,  when  a  bill  was  introduced  to  grant 
them  rights  of  property  and  religion,  I  will  suppose  this  gen- 
tleman to  have  come  forth  to  give  his  negative  to  their  pre- 
tensions. 

With  regard  to  the  liberties  of  America,  which  were  in- 
separable from  ours,  I  will  suppose  this  gentleman  to  have 
been  an  enemy,  decided  and  unreserved ;  that  he  voted 
against  her  liberty,  and  voted,  moreover,  for  an  address  to 
send  four  thousand  Irish  troops  to  cut  the  throats  of  the 
Americans  ;  that  he  called  these  Initchers  "  armed  negotia- 
tors," and  stood  with  a  metaphor  in  his  mouth,  and  a  bril)e 
in  his  pocket,  a  champion  against  the  rights  of  America,  tl:e 
only  liope  of  Ireland,  and  the  only  refuge  of  the  liberties  of 
mankind.  Thus  defective  m  every  relationship,  whetlicr  to 
Constitution,  commerce,  or  toleration,  I  will  suppose  this 
man  to  hav^e  added  much  private  improbity  to  public  crimes  ; 
that  his  probity  was  like  his  patriotism,  and  his  honor  on  a 
level  with  his  oath. 

He  loves  to  deliver  panegyrics  on  himself.  I  will  inter- 
rupt him,  and  say,  '^  Sir,  you  are  mistaken  if  you  think  that 
your  talents  have  been  as  great  as  your  life  has  been  repre- 
hensible. You  began  your  parliamentary  career  with  an 
acrimony  and  personality  which  could  have  been  justified  only 
by  a  supposition  of  virtue.  After  a  rank  and  clamorous 
oposition  you  became,  on  a  sudden,  silent;  you  were  silent 
seven  years  ;  you  were  silent  on  the  greatest  questions  ;  and 
ycHi  were  silent  for  money  !  You  supported  the  unparalled 
piofusion  and  jobbing  of  Lord  Harcourt's  scandalous  minis- 
try—  the  address  to  support  the  American  war  —  the  other 
address  to  send  four  thousand  men,  which  you  had  yourself 
declared  to  be  necessary  for  the  defence  of  Ireland,  to  tight 
against  the  liberties  of  America,  to  which  you  had  declared 
yourself  a  friend.  You,  sir,  who  manufacture  stage-thunder 
against  Mr.  Eden   for   his  anti-American   principles — you, 


172  ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS. 

sir,  whom  it  pleases  to  chant  a  hymn  to  the  immortal  Hamp- 
den—  you,  sir,  approved  of  the  tyranny  exercised  against 
America  ;  and  you,  sir,  voted  four  thousand  Irish  troops  to 
cut  the  throats  of  the  Americans  fighting  for  their  freedom, 
fighting  for  your  freedom,  fighting  for  the  great  principle, 
Liberty;  But  you  found,  at  last  (and  this  should  be  an 
eternal  lesson  to  men  of  your  craft  and  cunning),  that  the 
King  had  only  dishonored  you  ;  the  court  had  bought,  but 
would  not  trust  you  ;  and,  having  voted  for  the  worst  meas- 
ures, you  remained,  for  seven  years,  the  creatui  e  of  salary, 
without  the  confidence  of  government.  Mortified  at  the 
discovery,  and  stung  by  disappointment,  you  betake  yourself 
to  the  sad  expedients  of  duplicity.  You  try  the  sorry  game 
of  a  trimmer  in  your  progress  to  the  acts  of  an  inccndiarv . 
You  give  no  honest  support  either  to  tlie  government  or  the 
people;  observing,  with  regard  to  both  prince  and  people, 
the  most  impartial  treachery  and  desertion,  you  justify  the 
suspicion  of  your  Sovereign,  by  betraying  tiie  government, 
as  you  had  sold  the  people,  until,  at  last,  by  this  hollow 
conduct,  and  for  some  other  steps,  the  result  of  moitified 
ambition,  being  dismissed,  and  another  person  put  in  }our 
place,  you  fly  to  the  ranks  of  the  Volunteers  and  canvass  for 
mutiny. 

Such  has  been  your  conduct  ;  and  at  such  conduct  every 
order  of  your  fellow-subjects  have  a  right  to  exclaim  !  The 
merchant  may  say  to  you — the  constitutionalist  may  sav  to 
you  —  the  American  may  say  to  you  —  and  I,  /  now  sa> , 
and  say  to  your  beard,  sir,  —  ''  you  are  not  an  honest  man  !  " 

H.  Grattai:. 


IN  SCHOOL   DAYS. 

Still  sits  the  school-house  by  the  road, 

A  ragged  beggar  sunning. 
Around  it  still  the  sumachs  grow, 

And  blackberry  vines  are  running. 


ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS  173 

Within  the  master's  desk  is  seen, 

Deep  scarred  by  raps  otiicial ; 
The  warping  floor,  the  battered  seats, 

The  jack-knife's  carved  initial ; 

The  charcoal  frescoes  on  its  wall ; 

Its  doors  worn  sill,  betraying 
The  feet  that  creeping  slow  to  school. 

Went  storming  out  to  playing. 

Long  years  ago,  a  winter  sun 

Shone  over  it  at  setting, 
Lit  up  its  western  window-panes, 

And  low  eaves*  icy  fretting. 

It  touched  the  tangled  golden  curls. 

And  brown  eyes,  full  of  grieving, 
Of  one  who  still  her  steps  delayed 

When  all  the  school  were  leaving. 

For  near  her  stood  the  little  boy, 

Her  childish  favor  singled. 
His  cap  pulled  low  upon  a  face 

Where  pride  and  shame  were  mingled. 

Pushing  with  restless  feet  the  snow 

To  right  and  left,  he  lingered ; 
As  restlessly  her  tiny  hands 

The  blue-checked  apron  fingered. 

He  saw  her  lift  her  eyes  ;  he  felt 

The  soft  hands'  light  caressing. 
And  heard  the  tremble  of  her  voice, 

As  if  a  fault  confessing. 

**  Till  sorry  that  I  spelt  the  word  : 

I  hate  to  go  above  you. 
Because  "  — the  brown  eyes  lower  fell  — 

"  Because,  you  see,  I  love  you  !  " 


174  ADVANCED    READINGS    AIID    RECITATIONS. 

Still  memory  to  a  gray-haired  man 
That  sweet  child-face  is  showing. 

Dear  girl !  the  grasses  on  her  grave 
Have  forty  years  been  growing. 

He  lives  to  learn  in  life's  hard  school, 

How  few  who  pass  above  him 
Lament  their  triumph  and  his  loss, 

Like  her  —  because  they  love  him. 

Whittier- 


PARRHASIUS  AND  THE  CAPTIVE. 

There  stood  an  unsold  captive  in  the  mart, 
A  gray-hair*d  and  majestical  old  man, 
Chained  to  a  pillar.     It  was  almost  night. 
And  the  last  seller  from  his  place  had  gone, 
And  not  a  sound  was  heard  but  of  a  dog 
Crunching  beneath  the  stall  a  refuse  bone, 
Or  the  dull  echo  from  the  pavement  rung. 
As  the  faint  captive  changed  his  weary  feet. 

He  had  stood  there  since  morning,  and  had  borne 

From  every  eye  in  Athens  the  cold  gaze 

Of  curious  scorn.     The  Jew  had  taunted  him 

For  an  Olynthian  slave.     The  buyer  came 

And  roughly  struck  his  palm  upon  his  breast, 

And  touched  his  unheal'd  wounds,  and  with  a  sneer 

Pass'd  on  ;  and  when,  with  weariness  o'erspent. 

He  bow'd  his  head  in  a  forgetful  sleep, 

The  inhuman  soldier  smote  him,  and,  with  threats 

Of  torture  to  his  children,  summoned  back 

The  ebbing  blood  into  his  pallid  face. 

'Twas  evening,  and  the  half-descended  sun 
Tipp'd  with  a  golden  fire  the  many  domes 
Of  Athens,  and  a  yellow  atmosphere 


ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS.  175 

Lay  rich  and  dusky  in  the  shaded  street 
Through  which  the  captive  gazed.     He  had  borne  up 
With  a  stout  heart  that  long  and  weary  day, 
Haughtily  patient  of  his  many  wrongs; 
But  now  he  was  alone,  and  from  his  nerves 
The  needless  strength  departed,  and  he  lean'd 
Prone  on  his  massy  chain,  and  let  his  thoughts 
Throng  on  him  as  they  would. 

Unmark'd  of  him, 
Parrhasius  at  the  nearest  pillar  stood. 
Gazing  upon  his  grief.     The  Athenian's  cheek 
Flush'd  as  he  measured  with  a  painter's  eye 
The  moving  picture.     The  abandon'd  limbs, 
Stain'd  with  the  oozing  blood,  were  laced  with  veins 
Swollen  to  purple  fulness  ;  the  gray  hair. 
Thin  and  disorder'd,  hung  about  his  eyes ; 
And  as  a  thought  of  wilder  bitterness 
Rose  in  his  memory,  his  lips  grew  white. 
And  the  fast  workings  of  his  bloodless  face 
Told  what  a  tooth  of  fire  was  at  his  heart. 

Tlie  golden  light  into  the  painter's  room 
Streamed  richly,  and  the  hidden  colors  stole 
From  the  dark  pictures  radiantly  forth, 
And  in  the  soft  and  dewy  atmosphere 
Like  forms  and  landscapes  magical  they  lay. 
The  walls  were  hung  with  armor,  and  about 
In  the  dim  corners  stood  the  sculptured  forms 
Of  Cytheris,  and  Dian,  and  stern  Jove, 
And  from  the  casement  soberly  away 
Fell  the  'grotesque  long  shadows,  full  and  true, 
And,  like  a  vail  of  filmy  mellowness, 
The  lint-specks  floated  in  the  twilight  air. 

Parrhasius  stood,  gazing  forgetfully 
Upon  his  canvas.     There  Prometheus  lay, 
Chained  to  the  cold  rocks  of  Mount  Caucasus  — 


\1()  ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS. 

The  vulture  at  his  vitals,  and  the  links 

Of  the  lame  Leninian  festering  in  his  flesh  ; 

And  as  the  painter's  mind  felt  through  the  dim, 

Rapt  mystery,  and  pluck'd  the  shadows  forth 

With  its  far-reaching  fancy,  and  with  form 

And  color  clad  them,  his  fine,  earnest  eye, 

Flash'd  with  a  passionate  fire,  and  the  quick  curl 

Of  his  thin  nostril,  and  his  quivering  lip, 

Were  like  the  wing*d  god's,  breathing  from  his  flight. 

"  Bring  me  the  captive  now ! 
My  hand  feels  skilful,  and  the  shadows  lift 
From  my  waked  spirit  airily  and  swift. 

And  I  could  paint  the  bow 
'  Upon  the  bended  heavens  —  around  me  play 
Colors  of  such  divinity  to-day. 

"  Ha  I  bind  him  on  his  back  ! 
Look  I  —  as  Prometheus  in  my  picture  here  ! 
Qiiick  —  or  he  faints  !  —  stand  with  the  cordial  near! 

Now  —  bend  him  to  the  rack  I 
Press  down  the  poisoned  links  into  his  flesh  ! 
And  tear  agape  that  healing  wound  afresh  ! 

"  So  —  let  him  writhe  !     How  long 
Will  he  live  thus?     Qiiick,  my  good  pencil,  now! 
What  a  fine  agony  works  upon  his  brow  ! 

Ha  !  gray-hair'd,  and  so  strong  I 
How  fearfully  he  stifles  that  short  moan  ! 
Gods  !   if  I  could  but  paint  a  dying  groan  ! 

'^'Pity'  thee!     So  I  do  ! 
I  pity  the  dumb  victim  at  the  altar  — 
But  does  the  robed  priest  for  his ///y  falter? 

I'd  rack  thee,  though  I  knew 
A  thousand  lives  were  perishing  in  thine  — 
What  were  ten  thousand  to  a  fame  like  mine.^ 


I 


ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS.  177 

^'  '  Hereafter  ! '     Ay  —  hereafter  I 
A  whip  to  keep  a  coward  to  his  track  ! 
What  gave  Death  ever  from  his  kingdom  back 

To  check  the  sceptic's  laughter? 
Come  from  the  grave  to-morrow  with  that  story 
And  I  may  take  some  softer  path  to  glory. 

'^  No,  no,  old  man  !  we  die 
Even  as  the  flowers,  and  we  shall  breathe  away 
Our  life  upon  the  chance  wind,  even  as  they  ! 

Strain  well  thy  fainting  eye  — 
For  when  that  bloodshot  quivering  is  o'er, 
The  light  of  heaven  will  never  reach  thee  more. 

"  Yet  there's  a  deathless  na?ne  ! 
A  spirit  that  the  smothering  vault  shall  spurn, 
And  like  a  steadfast  planet  mount  and  burn  — 

And  though  its  crown  of  flame 
Consumed  my  brain  to  ashes  as  It  shone. 
By  all  the  fiery  stars  !   I'd  bind  it  on  ! 

"  Ay  —  though  it  bid  me  rifle 
My  heart's  last  fount  for  its  insatiate  thirst  — 
Though  every  life-strung  nerve  be  madden'd  first  — 

Though  it  should  bid  me  stifle 
The  yearning  in  my  throat  for  my  sweet  child, 
And  taunt  its  mother  till  my  brain  went  wild  — 

''  All  —  I  would  do  it  all  — 
Sooner  than  die,  like  a  dull  worm,  to  rot  — 
Thrust  foully  into  earth  to  be  forgot. 

Oh  heavens  !  —  but  I  appall 

Your  heart,  old  man  !    forgive  ■ ha  !  on  your  lives 

Let  him  not  faint !  —  rack  him  till  he  revives  ! 

''  Vain  —  vain  —  give  o'er  !  His  eye 
Glazes  apace.  He  does  not  feel  you  now  — 
Stand  back  !     I'll  paint  the  death-dew  on  his  brow  ! 

12 


178  ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS. 

Gods  !   if  he  do  not  die 
But  for  o7ie  moment  —  one  —  till  I  eclipse 
Conception  with  the  scorn  of  those  cairn  lips! 

''  Shivering  !     Hark  !  he  mutters 
Brokenly  now  —  that  was  a  difficult  breath  — 
Another?     Wilt  thou  never  come,  O  Death  ! 

Look  !  how  his  temple  flutters  ! 
Is  his  heart  still?     Aha  !   lift  up  his  head  ! 
He  shudders — gasps — Jove  help  him  !  — so  —  he*s  dead. 

How  like  a  mounting  devil  in  the  heart 

Rules  the  unrein'd  ambition  !     Let  it  once 

But  play  the  monarch,  and  its  haughty  brow 

Glows  with  a  beauty  that  bewilders  thought 

And  unthrones  peace  forever.     Putting  on 

The  very  pomp  of  Lucifer,  it  turns 

The  heart  to  ashes,  and  with  not  a  spring 

Left  in  the  bosom  for  the  spirit's  lip. 

We  look  upon  our  splendor  and  forget 

The  thirst  of  which  we  perish  !     Yet  hath  life 

Many  a  falser  idol.     There  are  hopes 

Promising  well ;  and  love-touch'd  dreams  for  some  ; 

And  passions,  many  a  wild  one  ;  and  fair  schemes 

For  gold  and  pleasure  —  yet  will  only  this 

Balk  not  the  soul  —  Ambition  only,  gives, 

Even  of  bitterness,  a  beaker yull! 

Friendship  is  but  a  slow-awaking  dream, 
Troubled  at  best.     Love  is  a  lamp  unseen. 
Burning  to  waste,  or,  if  its  light  is  found, 
Nursed  for  an  idle  hour,  then  idly  broken  — 
Gain  is  a  grovelling  care,  and  Folly  tires, 
And  Quiet  is  a  hunger  never  fed  — 
And  from  Love's  very  bosom,  and  from  Gain, 
Or  Folly,  or  a  Friend,  or  from  Repose  — 
From  all  but  keen  Ambition  —  will  the  soul 
Snatch  the  first  moment  of  forcj^etfulness 


ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS.  179 

To  wander  like  a  restless  child  away. 

Oh.  if  there  were  not  better  hopes  than  these  — 

Were  there  no  palm  beyond  a  feverish  fame  — 

If  the  proud  wealth  flung  back  upon  the  heart 

Must  canker  in  its  coffers —  if  the  links 

Falsehood  hath  broken  will  unite  no  more  — 

If  the  deep-yearning  love,  that  hath  not  found 

Its  like  in  the  cold  world,  must  waste  in  tears  — 

If  truth  and  fervor,  and  devotedness, 

Finch ng  no  worthy  altar,  must  return 

And  die  of  their  own  fulness  —  if  beyond 

The  grave  there  is  no  heaven  in  whose  wide  air 

The  spirit  may  find  room,  and  in  the  love 

Of  whose  bright  habitants  the  lavish  heart 

May  spend  itself — what  thrice-mock'd  fools  are  we. 

N.  P.  Willis, 


HANDSOME  IS  THA  T  HANDSOME  DOES, 

"  Handsome  is  that  handsome  does,  —  hold  up  your 
heads,  girls !  "  was  the  language  of  Primrose  in  the  play 
when  addressing  her  daughters.  The  worthy  matron  was 
right.  What  is  good-looking,  as  Horace  Smith  remarks,  but 
looking  good.f^  Be  good,  be  womanly,  be  gentle,  —  gen- 
erous in  your  sympathies,  heedful  of  the  well-being  of  all 
around  you  ;  and,  my  word  for  it,  you  will  not  lack  kind 
words  of  admiration.  Loving  and  pleasant  associations  will 
gather  about  you. 

Never  mind  the  ugly  reflection  which  your  glass  may  give 
you.  That  mirror  has  no  heart.  But  quite  another  picture 
is  yours  on  the  retina  of  human  sympathy.  There  the 
beauty  of  holiness,  of  purity,  of  that  inward  grace  which 
passeth  show,  rests  over  it,  softening  and  mellowing  its  fea- 
tures just  as  the  calm  moonlight  melts  those  of  a  rough 
landscape  into  harmonious  loveliness. 

"Hold  up  your  heads,  girls!'*  I  repeat    after  Primrose. 


180  ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS. 

Why  should  you  not?  Every  mother's  daughter  of  you  can 
be  beautiful.  You  can  envelop  yourselves  in  an  atmosphere 
of  moral  and  intellectual  beauty,  through  which  your  other- 
wise plain  faces  will  look  forth  like  those  of  angels. 

Beautiful  to  Ledyard,  stiffening  in  the  cold  of  a  northern 
winter,  seemed  the  diminutive,  smoke-stained  women  of 
Lapland,  who  wrapped  him  in  their  furs  and  ministered  to 
his  necessities  with  kindness  and  gentle  words  of  compas- 
sion. Lovely  to  the  homesick  heart  of  Park  seemed  the 
dark  maids  of  Sego,  as  they  sung  their  low  and  simple  song 
of  welcome  beside  his  bed,  and  sought  to  comfort  the  white 
stranger,  who  had  "no  mother  to  bring  him  milk,  and  no 
wife  to  grind  him  corn." 

Oh,  talk  as  we  may  of  beauty  as  a  thing  to  be  chiselled 
from  marble  or  wrought  out  on  canvas  ;  speculate  as  we 
may  upon  its  colors  and  outlines,  what  is  it  but  an  intellec- 
tual abstraction  after  all?  The  heart  feels  a  beauty  of 
another  kind  ;  looking  through  the  outward  environment,  it 
discovers  a  deeper  and  more  real  loveliness. 

This  was  well  imderstood  by  the  old  painters.  In  their 
pictures  of  Mary,  the  virgin  mother,  the  beauty  which  melts 
and  subdues  the  gazer  is  that  of  the  soul  and  the  affections, 
uniting  the  awe  and  mystery  of  that  mother's  miraculous 
allotment  with  the  irrepressible  love,  the  unutterable  tender- 
ness of  young  maternity,  —  Heaven's  crowning  miracle  with 
Nature's  holiest  and  sweetest  instinct. 

And  their  pale  Magdalens,  holy  with  the  look  of  sins  for- 
given,—  how  the  divine  beauty  of  their  penitence  sinks  into 
the  heart!  Do  we  not  feel  that  the  only  real  deformity  is 
sin,  and  that  goodness  evermore  hallows  and  sanctifies  its 
dwelling-place?  When  the  soul  is  at  rest,  when  the  pas- 
sions and  desires  are  all  attuned  to  the  divine  harmony,  — 

"  Spirits  moving  musically, 
To  a  lute's  well-ordered  law," 

do  we  not  read  the  placid  significance  thereof  in  the  human 
countenance.'* 


ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS.  IS] 

''I  have  seen,"  said  Charles  Lamb,  "faces  upon  which  the 
dove  of  peace  sat  brooding."  In  that  simple  and  beautiful 
record  of  a  holy  life,  the  Journal  of  John  Woolman,  there  is 
a  passage  of  which  I  have  been  more  than  once  reminded 
in  my  intercourse  with  my  fellow-beings:  "Some  glances  of 
real  beauty  may  be  seen  in  their  faces  who  dwell  in  true 
meekness.  There  is  a  divine  harmony  in  the  sound  of  that 
voice  to  which  divine  love  gives  utterance." 

Qiiite  the  ugliest  face  I  ever  saw  was  that  of  a  woman 
whom  the  world  calls  beautiful.  Through  its  "silver  veil" 
the  evil  and  ungentle  passions  looked  out  hideous  and  hate- 
ful. On  the  other  hand,  there  are  faces  which  the  multitude 
at  the  first  glance  pronounce  homely,  unattractive,  and  such 
as  "  Nature  fashions  by  the  gross,'*  which  I  always  recognize 
with  a  warm  heart-thrill ;  not  for  the  world  would  I  have 
one  feature  changed  ;  they  please  me  as  they  are  ;  they  are 
hallowed  by  kind  memories ;  they  are  beautiful  through 
their  associations  ;  nor  are  they  any  the  less  welcome  that 
with   my  admiration  of  them  ''the  stranger   intermeddleth 


not.' 


J.  G.  Whittier. 


JOHN  ANDERSON,  MY  JO,   JOHN. 

John  Anderson,  my  Jo,  John, 
When  we  were  first  acquent, 
Your  locks  were  like  the  raven, 
Your  bonnie  brow  was  brent ; 
But  now  your  brow  is  bald,  John, 
Your  locks  are  like  the  snow, 
But  blessings  on  your  frosty  pow 
John  Anderson,  my  Jo. 

John  Anderson,  my  Jo,  John, 
We  clamb  the  hill  thegither  ; 
And  mony  a  canty  day,  John, 
WeVe  had  wi'  ane  anither ; 


182  ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS. 

Now  we  maun  totter  down,  John, 

But  hand  in  hand  we'll  go. 

And  sleep  thegither  at  the  foot, 

John  Anderson,  my  Jo.  Robert  Burns 


KING  ROBERT  OF  SICILY. 

Robert  of  Sicily,  brother  of  Pope  Urbane 

And  Valmond,  Emperor  of  Allemaine, 

Apparelled  in  magnificent  attire 

With  retinue  of  many  a  knight  and  squire, 

On  St.  John's  eve,  at  vespers,  proudly  sat 

And  heard  the  priests  chant  the  Magnificat 

And  as  he  listened,  o*er  and  o*er  again 

Repeated,  like  a  burden  or  refrain. 

He  caught  the  words,  '^  Deposuit  potentes^ 

De  sede^  et  cxaltavit  humiles ;" 

And  slowly  lifting  up  his  kingly  head, 

He  to  a  learned  clerk  beside  him  said, 

"What  mean  those  words?"    The  clerk  made  answer 

meet, 
"  He  has  put  down  the  mighty  from  their  seat, 
And  has  exalted  them  of  low  degree." 
Thereat  King  Robert  muttered  scornfully, 
"  'Tis  well  that  such  seditious  words  are  sung 
Only  by  priests,  and  in  the  Latin  tongue ; 
For  unto  priests  and  people  be  it  known, 
There  is  no  power  can  push  me  from  my  throne !  *' 
And  leaning  back  he  yawned  and  fell  asleep. 
Lulled  by  the  chant  monotonous  and  deep. 

When  he  aw^oke,  it  was  already  night ; 
The  church  was  empty,  and  there  was  no  light. 
Save  where  the  lamps,  that  glimmered  few  and  faint, 
Lighted  a  little  space  before  some  saint. 


ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS.  183 

He  started  from  his  seat  and  gazed  around, 
But  saw  no  living  thing  and  heard  no  sound. 
He  groped  towards  the  door,  but  it  was  locked  ; 
He  cried  aloud,  and  listened,  and  then  knocked, 
And  uttered  awful  threatenings  and  complaints, 
And  imprecations  upon  men  and  saints. 
The  sounds  re-echoed  from  the  roof  and  walls 
As  if  dead  priests  were  laughing  in  their  stalls. 
At  length  the  sexton,  hearing  from  without 
The  tumult  of  the  knocking  and  the  shout, 
And  thinking  thieves  were  in  the  house  of  prayer, 
Came  with  his  lantern,  asking,  ''Who  is  there?" 
Half  choked  with  rage.  King  Robert  fiercely  said, 
"  Open  ;  'tis  I,  the  king  !     Art  thou  afraid.?" 
The  frightened  sexton,  muttering  with  a  curse, 
''  This  is  some  drunken  vagabond,  or  worse  !  " 
Turned  the  great  key  and  flung  the  portal  wide ; 
A  man  rushed  by  him  at  a  single  stride. 
Haggard,  half-naked,  without  hat  or  cloak, 
Who  neither  turned,  nor  looked  at  him,  nor  spoke, 
But  leaped  into  the  blackness  of  the  night, 
And  vanished  like  a  spectre  from  his  sight. 

Robert  of  Sicily,  brother  of  Pope  Urbane 
And  Valmond,  Emperor  of  Allemaine, 
Despoiled  of  his  magnificent  attire, 
Bare-headed,  breathless,  and  besprent  with  mire. 
With  se.ise  of  wrong  and  outrage  desperate, 
Strode  on  and  thundered  at  the  palace  gate ; 
Rushed  through  the  court-yard,  thrusting  in  his  rage 
To  right  and  left  each  seneschal  and  page, 
And  hurried  up  the  broad  and  sounding  stair, 
His  white  face  ghastly  in  the  torches'  glare. 
From  hall  to  hall  he  passed  with  breathless  speed  ; 
Voices  and  cries  he  heard,  but  did  not  heed. 
Until  at  last  he  reached  the  banquet-room, 
Blazing  with  light,  and  breathing  with  perfume. 


184  ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS. 

There  on  the  dais  sat  another  king, 

Wearing  his  robes,  his  crown,  his  signet-ring  — 

King  Robert's  self  in  features,  form,  and  height, 

But  all  transfigured  with  angelic  light ! 

It  was  an  Angel ;  and  his  presence  there 

With  a  divine  effulgence  filled  the  air, 

An  exaltation,  piercing  the  disguise. 

Though  none  the  hidden  Angel  recognize. 

A  moment  speechless,  motionless,  amazed, 

The  throneless  mo;.arch  on  the  Angel  gazed. 

Who  met  his  look  of  anger  and  surprise 

With  the  divine  compassion  of  his  eyes  ! 

Then  said,  "  Who  art  thou,  and  why  coms*t  thou  here?  ' 

To  w^hich  King  Robert  answered  with  a  sneer, 

"  I  am  the  king,  and  come  to  clatm  my  own, 

From  an  impostor,  who  usurps  my  throne ! " 

And  suddenly,  at  these  audacious  words, 

Up  sprang  the  angry  guests,  and  drew  their  swords ; 

The  Angel  answered  with  unrufl[led  brow, 

''  Nay,  not  the  king,  but  the  king's  jester  ;  thou 

Henceforth  shall  wear  the  bells  and  scalloped  cape 

And  for  thy  counselor  shalt  lead  an  ape  ; 

Thou  shalt  obey  my  servants  when  they  call, 

And  wait  upon  my  henchmen  in  the  hall !  " 

Deaf  to  King  Robert's  threats  and  cries  and  prayers. 

They  thrust  him  from  the  hall  and  down  the  stairs ; 

A  group  of  tittering  pages  ran  before, 

And  as  they  opened  wide  the  folding  door. 

His  heart  failed,  for  he  heard,  with  strange  alarms, 

The  boisterous  laughter  of  the  men-at-arms. 

And  all  the  vaulted  chamber  roar  and  ring 

With  the  mock  plaudits  of  "  Long  live  the  king ! " 

Next  morning,  waking  with  the  day's  first  beam. 
He  said  within  himself,  ''  It  was  a  dream  ! " 
But  the  straw  rustled  as  he  turned  his  head. 
There  were  the  cap  and  bells  beside  his  bed  ; 


ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS.  185 

Around  him  rose  the  bare,  discolored  walls, 
Close  l)y,  the  steeds  were  champing  in  their  stalls, 
And  in  the  corner,  a  revolting  shape. 
Shivering  and  chattering,  sat  the  wretched  ape. 
It  was  no  dream  ;  the  world  he  loved  so  much 
Had  turned  to  dust  and  ashes  at  his  touch  1 

Days  came  and  went ;   and  now  returned  again 

To  Sicily  the  old  Saturnian  reign  ; 

Under  the  Angel's  governance  benign 

The  happy  island  danced  with  corn  and  wine. 

And  deep  within  the  mountain's  burning  breast 

Enceladus,  the  giant,  was  at  rest. 

Meanwhile  King  Robert  yielded  to  his  fate, 

Sullen  and  silent  and  disconsolate. 

Dressed  in  the  motley  garb  that  jesters  wear, 

With  look  bewildered,  and  a  vacant  stare. 

Close-shaven  above  the  ears,  as  monks  are  shorn, 

By  courtiers  mocked,  by  pages  laughed  to  scorn, 

His  only  friend  the  ape,  his  only  food 

What  others  left  —  he  still  was  unsubdued. 

And  when  the  Angel  met  him  on  his  way. 

And  half  in  earnest,  half  in  jest,  would  say, 

Sternly,  though  tenderly,  that  he  might  feel 

The  velvet  scabbard  lield  a  sword  of  steel, 

''  Art  thou  the  king?  "  the  passion  of  his  woe 

Burst  from  him  in  resistless  overflow. 

And  lifting  high  his  forehead,  he  would  fling 

The  haughty  answer  back,  "  I  am,  T  am  the  king!" 

Almost  three  years  were  ended,  when  there  came 
Ambassadors  of  great  repute  and  name 
From  Valmond,  Emperor  of  Allemaine, 
Unto  King  Robert,  saying  that  Pope  Urbane 
By  letter  summoned  them  forthwith  to  come 
On  Holy  Thursday  to  his  City  of  Rome. 
The  Angel  with  great  joy  received  his  guests, 
And  gave  them  presents  of  embroidered  vests, 


186  ADVANCED    READINGS   AND    RECITATIONS. 

And  velvet  mantles  with  rich  ermine  lined, 

And  rings  and  jew^els  of  the  rarest  kind. 

Then  he  departed  with  them  o'er  the  sea 

Into  the  lovely  land  of  Italy, 

Whose  loveliness  was  more  resplendent  made 

By  the  mere  passing  of  that  cavalcade. 

With  plumes,  and  cloaks,  and  housings,  and  the  stir 

Of  jewelled  bridle  and  of  golden  spur. 

And  lo  !  among  the  menials,  in  mock  state, 

Upon  a  piebald  steed,  with  shambling  gait, 

His  cloak  of  foxtails  flapping  in  the  wind. 

The  solemn  ape  demurely  perched  behind. 

King  Robert  rode,  making  huge  merriment 

In  all  the  country  towns  through  which  they  went. 

The  Pope  received  them  with  great  pomp,  and  blare 

Of  bannered  trumpets,  on  St.  Peter's  Square, 

Giving  his  benediction  and  embrace, 

Fervent,  and  full  of  apostolic  grace. 

While  w  ith  congratulations  and  with  prayers 

He  entertained  the  Angel  unawares, 

Robert,  the  jester,  bursting  through  the  crowd, 

Into  their  presence  rushed,  and  cried  aloud: 

''  I  am  the  king !     Look  and  behold  in  me 

Robert,  your  brother,  King  of  Sicily  ! 

This  man,  who  wears  my  semblance  to  your  eyes, 

Is  an  impostor  in  a  king's  disguise. 

Do  you  not  know  me  ?     Does  no  voice  within 

Answer  my  cry,  and  say  we  are  akin.?  " 

The  Pope  in  silence,  but  with  troubled  mien, 

Gazed  at  the  Angel's  countenance  serene  ; 

The  Emperor,  laughing,  said,  ''  It  is  strange  sport 

To  keep  a  madman  for  thy  fool  at  court !  '* 

And  the  poor,  baffled  jester,  in  disgrace 

Was  hustled  back  among  the  populace.  ^ 

In  solemn  state  the  holy  week  went  by,  li 

And  Easter  Sunday  gleamed  upon  the  sky ; 


ADVAxNCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS.  187 

The  presence  of  the  Angel,  with  its  light, 

Before  the  sun  rose,  made  the  city  bright. 

And  with  new  fervor  filled  the  hearts  of  men, 

Who  felt  that  Christ  indeed  had  risen  again. 

Even  the  jester,  on  his  bed  of  straw. 

With  haggard  eyes  the  unwonted  splendor  saw ; 

He  felt  within  a  power  unfelt  before, 

And  kneeling  humbly  on  his  chamber  floor, 

He  heard  the  rustling  garments  of  the  Lord 

Sweep  through  the  silent  air,  ascending  heavenward. 

And  now  the  visit  ending,  and  once  more 

Valmond  returning  to  the  Danube*s  shore, 

Homeward  the  angel  journeyed,  and  again 

The  land  was  made  resplendent  with  his  train, 

Flashing  along  the  towns  of  Italy 

Unto  Salerno,  and  from  thence  by  sea. 

And  when  once  more  within  Palermo's  wall, 

And,  seated  on  the  throne  in  his  great  hall. 

He  heard  the  Angelus  from  convent  towers. 

As  if  the  better  world  conversed  with  ours, 

He  beckoned  to  King  Robert  to  draw  nigher. 

And  with  a  gesture  bade  the  rest  retire. 

And  when  they  were  alone,  the  angel  said, 

"Art  thou  the  king?"     Then,  bowing  down  his  head, 

King  Robert  crossed  both  hands  upon  his  breast. 

And  meekly  answered  him,  ''  Thou  knowest  best ! 

My  sins  as  scarlet  are  ;   let  me  go  hence. 

And  in  some  cloister's  school  of  penitence, 

Across  those  stones  that  pave  the  way  to  heaven 

Walk  barefoot  till  my  guilty  soul  be  shriven  !  " 

The  Angel  smiled,  and  from  his  radiant  face 

A  holy  light  illumined  all  the  place, 

And  through  the  open  window,  loud  and  clear, 

They  heard  the  monks  chant  in  the  chapel  near. 

Above  the  stir  and  tumult  of  the  street, 

*'  He  has  put  down  the  mighty  from  their  seat, 


188  ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS. 

And  has  exalted  them  of  low  degree  !  " 
And  throngh  the  chant  a  second  melody 
Rose  like  the  throbbing  of  a  single  string : 
''  I  am  an  Angel,  and  thou  art  the  king  !  " 

King  Robert,  who  was  standing  near  the  throne, 

Lifted  his  eyes,  and  lo  !   he  was  alone  ! 

But  all  apparelled  as  in  days  of  old. 

With  ermined  mantle  and  with  cloth  of  gold; 

And  when  his  courtiers  came,  they  found  him  there, 

Kneeling  upon  the  floor,  absorbed  in  silent  prayer. 

Longfellow 


MONT  BLANC  BEFORE  SUNRISE. 

Hast  thou  a  charm  to  stay  the  morning  star 
In  his  steep  course?     So  long  he  seemsto  pause 
On  thy  bald,  awful  head,  O  sovereign  Blanc  ! 
The  Arve  and  Arveiron  at  thy  base 
Rave  ceaselessly  ;  but  thou,  most  awful  form, 
Risest  from  forth  thy  silent  sea  of  pines. 
How  silently  !     Around  thee,  and  above. 
Deep  is  the  air  and  dark,  substantial,  black, 
An  ebon  mass :   methinks  thou  piercest  it 
As  with  a  wedge.     But  when  I  look  again 
It  is  thine  own  calm  home,  thy  crystal  shrine, 
Thy  habitation  from  eternity. 

0  dread  and  silent  mount !     I  gazed  upon  thee 
Till  thou,  still  present  to  the  bodily  sense. 

Didst  vanish  from  my  thought :   entranced  in  prayer 

1  worshipped  the  Invisible  alone. 

Yet,  like  some  sweet  beguiling  melody,  — 

So  sweet  we  know  not  we  are  listening  to  it, — 

Thou,  the  mean  while  wast  blending  with  my  thought, 

Yen,  with  my  life,  and  life's  own  secret  joy  ; 

Till  the  dilating  soul,  enrapt,  transfused, 


ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS.  189 

Into  the  mighty  vision  passing  —  there, 
As  in  her  natural  form,  swelled  vast  to  heaven. 
Awake,  my  soul !  not  only  passive  praise 
Thou  owest !   not  alone  these  swelling  tears, 
Mute  thanks,  and  secret  ecstasy  !     Awake, 
Voice  of  sweet  song  !     Awake,  my  heart,  awake ! 
Green  vales  and  icy  cliffs  !   all  join  my  hymn  ! 

Thou  first  and  chief,  sole  sovereign  of  the  vale ! 
Oh,  struggling  with  the  darkness  all  the  night. 
And  visited  all  night  by  troops  of  stars. 
Or  when  they  climb  the  sky,  or  when  they  sink,  — 
Companion  of  the  morning-star  at  dawn. 
Thyself  earth's  rosy  star,  and  of  the  dawn 
Co-herald  —  wake  !  O  wake  !  and  utter  praise  ! 
Who  sank  thy  sunless  pillars  deep  in  earth? 
Who  filled  thy  countenance  with  rosy  light? 
Who  made  thee  parent  of  perpetual  streams? 

And  you,  ye  five  wild  torrents  fiercely  clad ! 

Who  called  you  forth  from  night  and  utter  death, 

From  dark  and  icy  caverns  called  you  forth, 

Down  those  precipitous,  black,  jagged  rocks, 

Forever  shattered,  and  the  same  forever? 

Who  gave  you  your  invulnerable  life, 

Your  strength,  your  speed,  your  fury  and  your  joy, 

Unceasing  thunder,  and  eternal  foam  ? 

And  who  commanded,  —  and  the  silence  came, — 

"  Here  let  the  billows  stiffen  and  have  rest"? 

Ye  ice-falls !  ye  that  from  the  mountain's  brow 
Adown  enormous  ravines  slope  amain, — 
Torrents,  methinks,  that  heard  a  mighty  voice, 
And  stopped  at  once  amid  their  maddest  plunge ! 
Motionless  torrents  ;  silent  cataracts  ! 
Who  made  you  glorious  as  the  gates  of  heaven 
Beneath  the  keen  full  moon  ?     Who  bade  the  sun 
Clothe  you  with  rainbows?     Who,  with  living  flowers 
Of  loveliest  blue,  spread  garlands  at  your  feet? 


190  ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS. 

"  God  !  "  let  the  torrents,  like  a  shout  of  nations, 
Answer  !  and  let  the  ice-plain  echo,  "  God  !  " 
"God  !  "  sing,  ye  meadow  streams,  with  gladsome  voice 
Ye  pine  groves,  with  your  soft  and  soul-like  sounds  ! 
And  they,  too,  have  a  voice,  yon  piles  of  snow, 
And  in  their  perilous  fall  shall  thunder,  ''  God !  " 

Ye  living  flowers  that  skirt  the  eternal  frost ! 
Ye  wild  goats  sporting  round  the  eagle's  nest ! 
Ye  eagles,  playmates  of  the  mountain  storm  ! 
Ye  lightnings,  the  dread  arrows  of  the  clouds ! 
Ye  signs  and  wonders  of  the  elements ! 
Utter  forth  "  God  !  "   and  fill  the  hills  with  praise  ! 

Thou,  too,  hoar  mount !  with  thy  sky-pointing  peaks, 

Oft  from  whose  feet  the  avalanche,  unheard 

Shoots  downward,  glittering  through  the  pure  serene 

Into  the  depth  of  clouds  that  veil  thy  breast,  — 

Thou,  too,  again,  stupendous  mountain  I  thou 

That,  as  I  raise  my  head,  awhile  bowed  low 

In  adoration,  upward  from  thy  base 

Slow  travelling,  with  dim  eyes  suffused  with  tears, 

Solemnly  seemest,  like  a  vapory  cloud 

To  rise  before  me,  —  rise,  oh,  ever  rise  ! 

Rise,  like  a  cloud  of  incense,  from  the  earth  ! 

Though  kingly  spirit,  throned  among  the  hills, 

Thou  dread  ambassador  from  earth  to  heaven, 

Great  Hierarch  !  tell  thou  the  silent  sky, 

And  tell  the  stars,  and  tell  yon  rising  sun, 

Earth,  with  her  thousand  voices,  praises  God. 

S.  T.  Coleridge. 


ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONSc  191 


MOTHER  AND  POET, 

Dead  !    One  of  them  shot  by  the  sea  in  the  east, 
And  one  of  them  shot  in  the  west  by  the  sea, 

Dead  !  both  my  boys  !     When  you  sit  at  the  feast, 
And  are  wanting  a  great  song  for  Italy  free, 
Let  none  look  at  me  ! 

Yet  I  was  a  poetess  only  last  year, 

And  good  at  my  art,  for  a  woman,  men  said ; 

But  this  woman,  this,  who  is  agonized  here, 

The  east  sea  and  west  sea  rhyme  on  in  her  head ; 
Forever,  instead. 

What  art  can  a  woman  be  good  at  ?     Oh,  vain  ! 

What  art  is  she  good  at,  but  hurting  her  breast 
With  the  milk-teedi  of  babes,  and  a  smile  at  the  pain? 

Ah,  boys,  how  you  hurt !  you  were  strong  as  you  pressed^ 
And  I  proud,  by  that  test. 

What  art's  for  a  woman  ?     To  hold  on  her  knees 

Both  darlings  ;  to  feel  all  their  arms  round  her  throat 

Cling,  strangle  a  little  ;  to  sew  by  degrees 

And  broider  the  long  clothes  and  neat  little  coat ; 
To  dream  and  to  doat ! 

To  teach  them  .  .  It  stings  there !     I  made  them,  indeed. 

Speak  plain  the  word  country.     I  taught  them,  no  doubt, 
*  That  a  country's  a  thing  men  should  die  for  at  need. 
I  prated  of  liberty,  rights,  and  about 
The  tyrant  cast  out. 

And  when  their  eyes  flashed  .  .  O  my  beautiful  eyes, 

I  exulted  ;  nay,  let  them  go  forth  at  the  wheels 
,  Of  the  guns,  and  denied  not.     But  then  the  surprise 

When  one   sits  quite  alone  !     Then  one  weeps,  then  one 
kneels  ! 
God,  how  the  house  feels! 


192  ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS. 

At  first  happy  news  came,  —  in  gay  letters,  moiled 
With  my  kisses,  —  of  camp-life  and  glory,  and  how 

They  both  loved  me ;  and,  soon  coming  home  to  be  spoiled, 
In  return  would  fan  off  every  fly  from  my  brow 
With  their  green  laurel  bough. 

Then  was  triumph  at  Turin.     Ancona  was  free  ! 

And  some  one  came  out  of  the  cheers  in  the  street, 
With  a  face  pale  as  stone,  to  say  something  to  me : 

My  Guido  was  dead !     I  fell  down  at  his  feet, 
While  they  cheered  in  the  street. 

I  bore  it ;  friends  soothed  me  ;  my  grief  looked  sublime 
As  the  ransom  of  Italy.     One  boy  remained 

To  be  leaned  on  and  walked  with,  recalling  the  time 
When  the  first  grew  immortal,  while  both  of  us  strained 
To  the  height  he  had  gained. 

And  letters  still  came,  shorter,  sadder,  more  strong, 
Writ  now  but  in  one  hand  :  I  was  not  to  faint, — 

One  loved  me  for  two,  —  would  be  with  me  ere  long: 
And,  "  Viva  V Italia!  he  died  for,  —  our  saint,  — 
Who  forbids  our  complaint." 

My  Nannie  w^ould  add ;  he  was  safe,  and  aware 

Of  a  presence  that  turned  off  the  balls,  —  was  impressed 

It  was  Guido  himself,  who  knew  what  I  could  bear, 
And  how  *twas  impossible,  quite  dispossessed, 
To  live  on  for  the  rest 

On  which,  without  pause,  up  the  telegraph  line 

Swept  smoothly  the  next  news  from  Gaeta :  — •"  Shot. 
Tell   his    mother."   Ah,    ah,    "his,"   "their'*    mother,    aot 
"  mine;" 
No  voice  says,  **  My  mother'*  again  to  me.      What! 
You  think  Guido  forgot  ? 


ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS.  193 

Are  souls  straight  so  happy  that,  dizzy  with  Heaven, 
They  drop  earth's  atrections,  conceive  not  of  woe  ? 

I  think  not.     Themselves  were  too  lately  forgiven 
Through  that  Love  and  Sorrow  which  reconciled  so 
The  Above  and  Below. 

Oh  Christ  of  the  seven  wounds,  who  look'dst  through  the 

ibt  dark 

If     To  the  face  of  Thy  Mother  !   consider,  I  pray, 
How  we  common  mothers  stand  desolate,  mark 

Whose  sons,  not  being  Christs,  die  with  eyes  turned  away, 
And  no  last  word  to  say. 

Both  boys  dead  ?  but  that's  out  of  nature.     We  all 

Have  been  patriots,  yet  each  house  must  always  keep  one. 
^Twere  imbecile,  hewing  out  roads  to  a  wall ; 
;     And,  when  Italy's  made,  for  what  end  is  it  done 
If  we  have  not  a  son  ? 

Ah,  ah,  ah  !  when  Gaeta's  taken,  what  then  ? 

When  the  fair  wicked  queen  sits  no  more  at  her  sport 
Of  the  fire-balls  of  death,  crashing  souls  out  of  men  ? 

When  the  guns  of  Cavalli,  with  final  retort, 
Have  cut  the  game  short  ? 

When  Venice  and  Rome  keep  their  new  jubilee. 

When  your  flag  takes  all  heaven  for  its  white,  green,  and 
red, 
When  you  have  a  country  from  mountain  to  sea. 
And  King  Victor  has  Italy's  crown  on  his  head, 
(And  I  have  my  dead)  — 

What  then?     Do  not  mock  me.     Ah,  ring  your  bells  low, 

And  burn  your  lights  faintly  !     My  country  is  there, 
Above  the  star  pricked  by  the  last  peak  of  snow  ; 
My  Italy  's  there,  with  my  brave  civic  pair, 
To  disfranchise  despair ! 
13 


194  ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS. 

Forgive  me.     Some  women  bear  children  in  strength, 
And  bite  back  the  cry  of  their  pain  in  self-scorn  ; 

But  the  birth-pangs  of  nations  will  wring  us  at  length 
Into  wail  such  as  this  ;   and  we  sit  on,  forlorn, 
When  the  man-child  is  born. 

Dead  !     One  of  them  shot  by  the  sea  in  the  east. 
And  one  of  them  shot  in  the  west  by  the  sea. 

Both,  both  my  boys  !      If,  in  keeping  the  feast. 
You  want  a  great  song  for  your  Italy  free. 

Let  none  look  at  me  !  Mrs.  Browning 


NAPOLEON  BONAPARTE. 

He  is  fallen  !  We  may  now  pause  before  that  splendid 
prodigy,  which  towered  among  us  like  some  ancient  ruin, 
whose  frown  terrified  the  glance  its  magnificence  attracted. 
Grand,  gloomy,  and  peculiar,  he  sat  upon  the  throne,  a 
sceptred  hermit,  wrapt  in  the  solitude  of  his  own  origi- 
nality. A  mind,  bold,  independent,  and  decisive,  —  a  will 
despotic  in  its  dictates,  —  an  energy  that  distanced  expedition, 
and  a  conscience  pliable  to  every  touch  of  interest,  marked 
the  outline  of  this  extraordinary  character — the  most  ex- 
traordinary, perhaps,  that  in  the  annals  of  this  world  ever 
rose,  or  reigned,  or  fell. 

Flung  into  life  in  the  midst  of  a  revolution  that  quickened 
every  energy  of  a  people  who  acknowledge  no  superior,  he 
commenced  his  course,  a  stranger  by  birth,  and  a  scholar 
by  charity  !  With  no  friend  but  his  sword,  and  no  fortune 
but  his  talents,  he  rushed  into  the  lists  where  rank,  and 
wealth,  and  genius  had  arrayed  themselves,  and  competition 
fled  from  him  as  from  the  glance  of  destiny.  He  knew  no 
motive  but  interest  —  he  acknowledged  no  criterion  but  suc- 
cess—  he  worshipped  no  God  but  ambition,  and,  with  an 
Eastern  devotion,  he  knelt  at  the  shrine  of  his  idolatry. 


ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS.  195 

Subsidiary  to  this,  there  was  no  creed  that  he  did  not  pro- 
fess, there  was  no  opinion  that  he  did  not  promulgate;  in  the 
hope  of  a  dynasty,  he  upheld  the  Crescent ;  for  the  sake  of  a 
divorce,  he  bowed  before  the  Cross  ;  the  orphan  of  St.  Louis, 
he  became  the  adopted  child  of  the  Republic  ;  and,  with  a 
parricidal  ingratitude,  on  the  ruins  both  of  the  throne  and 
tribune,  he  reared  the  throne  of  his  despotism.  A  professed 
Catholic,  he  imprisoned  the  Pope  ;  a  pretended  patriot,  he 
impoverished  the  country  ;  and,  in  the  name  of  Brutus,  he 
grasped  without  remorse  and  wore  without  shame  the  dia- 
dem of  the  Caesars.  Through  this  pantomime  of  policy, 
fortune  played  the  clown  to  his  caprices.  At  his  touch, 
crowns  crumbled,  beggars  reigned,  systems  vanished,  the 
wildest  theories  took  the  color  of  his  wiiim,  and  all  that  was 
venerable,  and  all  that  was  novel,  changed  places  with  the 
rapidity  of  a  drama. 

Even  apparent  defeat  assumed  the  appearance  of  victory 
—  his  flight  from  Egypt  confirmed  his  destiny  —  ruin  itself 
only  elevated  him  to  empire.  But,  if  his  fortune  was  great, 
his  genius  was  transcendent ;  decision  flashed  upon  his 
counsels ;  and  it  was  the  same  to  decide  and  to  perform. 
To  inferior  intellects  his  combinations  appeared  perfectly 
impossible,  his  plans  perfectly  impracticable ;  but,  in  his 
hands,  simplicity  marked  their  development,  and  success 
vindicated  their  adoption.  His  person  partook  the  character 
of  his  mind  —  if  the  one  never  yielded  in  the  cabinet,  the 
other  never  bent  in  the  field.  Nature  had  no  obstacle  that 
he  did  not  surmount  —  space  no  opposition  that  he  did  not 
spurn  :  and  whether  amid  Alpine  rocks,  Arabian  sands,  or 
Polar  snows,  he  seemed  proof  against  peril,  and  empowered 
with  ubiquity. 

The  whole  continent  trembled  at  beholding  the  audacity 
of  his  designs,  and  the  miracle  of  their  execution.  Scep- 
ticism bowed  to  the  prodigies  of  his  performance  ;  romance 
assumed  the  air  of  history  ;  nor  was  there  aught  too  incred- 
ible for  belief,  or  too  fanciful  for  expectation,  when  the 
world  saw  a  subaltern  of  Corsica  waving  his  imperial  flag 


196  ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS. 

over  her  most  ancient  capitals.  All  the  visions  of  antiquity 
became  commonplace  in  his  contemplation  ;  kings  were  his 
people  —  nations  w^ere  his  outposts ;  and  he  disposed  of 
courts,  and  crowns,  and  camps,  and  churches,  and  cabinets, 
as  if  they  were  titular  dignitaries  of  the  chess-board.  Amid 
all  these  changes,  he  stood  immutable  as  adamant. 

It  mattered  little  whether  in  the  field  or  in  the  drawing- 
room —  with  the  mob  or  the  levee  —  wearing  the  Jacobin 
bonnet  or  the  iron  crown  —  banishing  a  Braganza,  or  es- 
pousing a  Hapsburg  —  dictating  peace  on  a  raft  to  the  Czar 
of  Russia,  or  contemplating  defeat  at  the  gallows  of  Leip- 
sic  —  he  was  still  the  same  military  despot. 
Y^  In  this  wonderful  combination  his  affectations  of  litera- 
ture must  not  be  omitted.  The  jailor  of  the  press,  he 
affected  the  patronage  of  letters  —  the  proscriber  of  books, 
he  encouraged  philosophy  —  the  persecutor  of  authors  and 
the  murderer  of  printers,  he  yet  pretended  to  the  protection 
of  learning.  Such  a  medley  of  contradictions,  and,  at  tlie 
same  time,  such  an  individual  consistency,  were  never 
united  in  the  same  character.  A  royalist  —  a  republican 
and  an  emperor — a  Mohammedan  —  a  Catholic  and  a  pa- 
tron of  the  synagogue  —  a  subaltern  and  a  sovereign  —  a 
traitor  and  a  tyrant  —  a  Christian  and  an  infidel  —  he  was, 
through  all  his  vicissitudes,  the  same  stern,  impatient,  in- 
flexible original  —  the  same  mysterious,  incomprehensible 
self — a  man  without  a  model,  and  without  a  shadow. 

Charles  Phillips. 


PAUL    REVERE' S   RIDE. 

Listen,  my  children,  and  you  shall  hear 

Of  the  midnight  ride  of  Paul  Revere, 

On  the  eighteenth  of  April,  in  Seventy-Five: 

Hardly  a  man  is  now  alive 

Who  remembers  that  famous  day  and  year. 


ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS,  197 

He  said  to  his  friend —  "  If  the  British  march 
By  land  or  sea  from  the  town  to-night, 
Hang  a  lantern  aloft  in  the  belfry-arch 
Of  the  North-Church  tower,  as  a  signal-light  — 
One  if  by  land,  and  two  if  by  sea  ; 
And  I  on  the  opposite  shore  will  be, 
Ready  to  ride  and  spread  the  alarm 
Through  every  Middlesex  village  and  farm, 
For  the  country-folk  to  be  up  and  to  arm." 

Then  he  said  Good-night !  and  with  muffled  oar 

Silently  rowed  to  the  Charlestown  shore, 

Just  as  the  moon  rose  over  the  bay, 

Where  swinging  wide  at  her  moorings  lay 

The  Somerset,  British  man-of-war : 

A  phantom  ship,  with  each  mast  and  spar 

Across  the  moon,  like  a  prison  bar, 

And  a  huge,  black  hulk,  that  was  magnified 

By  its  own  reflection  in  the  tide. 

Meanwhile,  his  friend,  through  alley  and  street 
Wanders  and  watches  with  eager  ears. 
Till  in  the  silence  around  him  he  hears 
The  muster  of  men  at  the  barrack-door. 
The  sound  of  arms,  and  the  tramp  of  feet, 
And  the  measured  tread  of  the  grenadiers 
Marching  down  to  their  boats  on  the  shore. 

Then  he  climbed  to  the  tower  of  the  church, 
Up  the  wooden  stairs,  with  stealthy  tread, 
To  the  belfry-chamber  overhead. 
And  startled  the  pigeons  from  their  perch 
On  the  sombre  rafters,  that  round  him  made 
Masses  and  moving  shapes  of  shade  — 
Up  the  light  ladder,  slender  and  tall. 
To  the  highest  window  in  the  wall. 
Where  he  paused  to  listen  and  look  down 
A  moment  on  the  roofs  of  the  quiet  town, 
And  the  moonlight  flowing  over  all. 


198  ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS. 

Beneath,  in  the  church-yard,  lay  the  dead 
In  their  night-encampment  on  the  hill, 
Wrapped  in  silence  so  deep  and  still, 
That  he  could  hear,  like  a  sentinel's  tread 
The  watchful  night-wind  as  it  went 
Creeping  along  from  tent  to  tent, 
And  seeming  to  wdiisper,  "  All  is  well !  " 
A  moment  only  he  feels  the  spell 
Of  the  place  and  the  hour,  the  secret  dread 
Of  the  lonely  belfry  and  the  dead  ; 
For  suddenly  all  his  thoughts  are  bent 
On  a  shadowy  something  far  away, 
Where  the  river  widens  to  meet  the  bay  — 
A  line  of  black,  that  bends  and  floats 
On  the  rising  tide,  like  a  bridge  of  boats. 

Meanwhile,  impatient  to  mount  and  ride, 

Booted  and  spurred,  with  a  heavy  stride. 

On  the  opposite  shore  walked  Paul  Revere. 

Now  he  patted  his  horse's  side. 

Now  gazed  on  the  landscape  far  and  near, 

Then  impetuous  stamped  the  earth. 

And  turned  and  tightened  his  saddle-girth ; 

But  mostly  he  watched  with  eager  search 

The  belfry-tower  of  the  old  North  Church, 

As  it  rose  above  the  graves  on  the  hill, 

Lonely,  and  spectral,  and  sombre,  and  still. 

And  lo  !  as  he  looks  on  the  belfry's  height, 
A  glimmer,  and  then  a  gleam  of  light ! 
He  springs  to  the  saddle,  the  bridle  he  turns, 
But  lingers  and  gazes,  till  full  on  his  sight 
A  second  lamp  in  the  belfry  burns ! 

A  hurry  of  hoofs  in  the  village  street, 
A  shape  in  the  moonlight,  a  bulk  in  the  dark, 
And  beneath  from  the  pebbles,  in  passing,  a  spark 
Struck  out  by  a  steed  that  flies  fearless  and  fleet ; 


ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS.  199 

That  was  all  !      And   3et   through  the  gloom  and  the 

light 
The  fate  of  a  nation  was  riding  that  night ; 
And  the  spark  struck  out  by  that  steed,  in  his  flight 
Kindled  the  land  into  flame  with  its  heat. 

It  was  twelve  by  the  village  clock, 

When  he  crossed  the  bridge  into  Medford  town. 

He  heard  the  crowing  of  the  cock. 

And  the  barking  of  the  farmer*s  dog, 

And  felt  the  damp  of  the  river-fog, 

That  rises  after  the  sun  goes  down. 

It  was  one  by  the  village-clock. 

When  he  galloped  into  Lexington. 

He  saw  the  gilded  weathercock 

Swim  in  the  moonlight  as  he  passed. 

And  the  meeting-house  windows,  blank  and  bare, 

Gaze  at  him  with  a  spectral  glare. 

As  if  they  already  stood  aghast 

At  the  bloody  work  they  would  look  upon. 

It  was  two  by  the  village  clock, 

When  he  came  to  the  bridge  in  Concord  town. 

He  heard  the  bleating  of  the  flock, 

And  Ihe  twitter  of  birds  among  the  trees, 

And  felt  the  breath  of  the  morning  breeze 

Blowing  over  the  meadows  brown. 

And  one  was  safe  and  asleep  in  his  bed 

Who  at  the  bridge  would  be  first  to  fall, 

Who  that  day  would  be  lying  dead, 

Pierced  by  a  British  musket-ball. 

You  know  the  rest.     In  the  books  you  have  read 
How  the  British  regulars  fired  and  fled  — 
How  the  farmers  gave  them  ball  for  ball. 
From  behind  each  fence  and  farm-yard  wall, 


200  ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS. 

Chasing  the  red-coats  down  the  lane, 
Then  crossing  the  fields  to  emerge  again 
Under  the  trees  at  the  turn  of  the  road, 
And  only  pausing  to  fire  and  load. 

So  through  the  night  rode  Paul  Revere ; 

And  so  through  the  night  went  his  cry  of  alarm 

To  every  Middlesex  village  and  farm  — 

A  cry  of  defiance,  and  not  of  fear  — 

A  voice  in  the  darkness,  a  knock  at  the  door, 

And  a  word  that  shall  echo  for  evermore  ! 

For,  borne  on  the  night- wnnd  of  the  Past, 

Through  all  our  history  to  the  last, 

In  the  hour  of  darkness,  and  peril,  and  need, 

The  people  will  waken  and  listen  to  hear 

The  hurrying  hoof-beats  of  that  steed, 

And  the  midnight  message  of  Paul  Revere. 

LONGFELLOW> 


POLONIUS'  ADVICE    TO  LAERTES. 

Farewell.     My  blessing  with  you  I 

And  these  few  precepts  in  thy  memory 

Look  thou  character.     Give  thy  thoughts  no  tongue, 

Nor  any  unproportioned  thought  his  act. 

Be  thou  familiar,  but  by  no  means  vulgar. 

The  friends  thou  hast,  and  their  adoption  tried. 

Grapple  them  to  thy  soul  with  hooks  of  steel ; 

But  do  not  dull  thy  palin  with  entertainment 

Of  each  new-hatch'd,  unfledg'd  comrade.     Beware 

Of  entrance  to  a  quarrel ;  but,  being  in. 

Bear  it,  that  the  opposed  may  beware  of  thee. 

Give  every  man  thine  ear,  but  few  thy  voice  : 

Take  each  ma«'s  censure,  but  reserve  thy  judgment. 

Costly  thy  habit  as  thy  purse  can  buy, 

But  not  expressed  in  fancy  ;  rich,  not  gaudy  : 


ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS.  201 

For  the  apparel  oft  proclaims  the  man  ; 
And  they  in  France,  of  the  best  rank  and  station 
Are  most  select  and  generous,  chief  in  that. 
Neither  a  borrower,  nor  a  lender  be  : 
For  loan  oft  loses  both  itself  and  friend  ; 
And  borrowing  dulls  the  edge  of  husbandry. 
This  above  all,  —  to  thine  own  self  be  true ; 
And  it  must  follow,  as  the  night  the  day. 
Thou  canst  not  then  be  false  to  any  man. 

Shakespeare. 


SUFFERINGS  AND  DESTINY  OF   THE  PILGRIMS, 

It  is  sad  indeed  to  reflect  on  the  disasters  which  the  little 
band  of  pilgrims  encountered.  Sad  to  see  a  portion  of  them, 
the  prey  of  unrelenting  cupidity,  treacherously  embarked  in 
an  unsound,  unseaworthy  ship,  which  they  are  soon  obliged 
to  abandor.,  and  crowd  themselves  into  one  vessel;  —  one 
hundred  persons,  besides  the  ship's  company,  in  a  vessel  of 
one  hundred  and  sixty  tons.  One  is  touched  at  the  story 
of  the  long,  cold,  and  weary  autumnal  passage ;  of  the 
landing  on  the  inhospitable  rocks  at  this  dismal  season  ; 
where  they  are  deserted,  before  long,  by  the  ship  which  had 
brought  them,  and,  which  seemed  their  only  hold  upon  the 
world  of  fellow-men,  —  a  prey  to  the  elements  and  to  want, 
and  fearfully  ignorant  of  the  numbers,  of  the  power,  and  the 
temper  of  the  savage  tribes,  that  filled  the  unexplored  con- 
tinent, upon  whose  verge  they  had  ventured. 

Metliinks  I  see  it  now,  that  one,  solitary,  adventurous 
vessel,  the  Mayflower  of  a  forlorn  hope,  freighted  with  the 
prospects  of  a  future  state,  and  bound  across  the  unknown 
sea.  I  behold  it  pursuing,  with  a  thousand  misgivings,  the 
uncertain,  the  tedious  voyage.  Suns  rise  and  set;  weeks 
and  months  pass  ;  and  winter  surprises  them  on  the  deep, 
but  brings  them  not  tlie  sight  of  the  wished-for  shore. 

I  see  them  now,  scantily  supplied  with  provisions,  crowded 


202  ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS. 

almost  to  suffocation  in  their  ill-stored  prison,  delayed  by 
calms,  pursuing  a  circuitous  route,  —  and  now  driven  in  fury 
before  the  raging  tempest,  on  the  high  and  giddy  waves. 
The  aw^ful  voice  of  the  storm  howls  tiirough  the  rigging. 
The  laboring  masts  seem  straining  from  their  base,  —  the 
dismal  sound  of  the  pumps  is  heard,  —  the  ship  leaps,  as  it 
were,  madly,  from  billow  to  billow, —  the  ocean  breaks,  and 
settles  with  ingulphing  floods  over  the  floating  deck,  and 
beats  with  deadening,  shivering  weight,  against  the  stag- 
gered vessel. 

I  see  them,  escaped  from  these  perils,  pursuing  their  all 
but  desperate  undertaking,  and  landed  at  last,  after  a  five 
months'  passage,  on  the  ice-clad  rocks  of  Plymouth,  —  weak 
and  weary  from  the  voyage,  —  poorly  armed,  scantily  pro- 
visioned, depending  on  the  charity  of  their  shipmaster  for  a 
draught  of  beer  on  board,  drinking  nothing  but  water  on 
shore,  —  without  shelter,  —  without  means, —  surrounded  by 
hostile  tribes. 

Shut  now^  the  volume  of  history,  and  tell  me,  on  any 
principle  of  human  probability,  what  shall  be  the  fate  of  this 
handful  of  adventurers.  Tell  me,  man  of  military  science,  in 
how  many  months  were  they  all  swept  off  by  the  thirty 
savage  tribes  enumerated  within  the  early  limits  of  New 
England?  Tell  me,  politician,  how  long  did  this  shadow  of 
a  colony,  on  which  your  conventions  and  treaties  had  not 
smiled,  languish  on  the  distant  coast? 

Student  of  history,  compare  for  me  the  baffled  projects, 
the  deserted  settlements,  the  abandoned  adventures  of  otiier 
times,  and  find  the  parallel  of  this.  Was  it  the  winter's 
storm,  beating  upon  the  houseless  heads  of  women  and  chil- 
dren,—  was  it  iiard  labor  and  spare  meals,  —  was  it  disease, 
—  was  it  the  tomahawk,  —  was  it  the  deep  malady  of  a 
blighted  hope,  a  ruined  enterprise,  and  a  broken  heart, 
aching  in  its  last  moments,  at  the  recollection  of  the  loved 
and  left  beyond  the  sea  ;  —  was  it  some  or  all  of  these 
united,  —  that  hurried  this  forsaken  company  to  their  melan- 
choly fate? 


ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS.  203 

And  is  it  possible  that  not  one  of  these  causes,  that  not  all 
combined,  were  able  to  blast  this  bud  of  hope?  Is  it  pos- 
sible, that  from  a  beginning  so  feeble,  so  frail,  so  worthy, 
not  so  much  of  admiration  as  of  pity,  there  has  gone  forth  a 
progress  so  steady,  a  growth  so  wonderful,  an  expansion  so 
ample,  a  reality  so  important,  a  promise,  yet  to  be  fulfilled, 
so  glorious?  Edward  Everett. 


QUEEN  MAB, 


Mercutio,     Oh,  then,  I  see  Qiieen  Mab  hath   been 
with   you. 
She  is  the  fairies*  midwife,  and  she  comes 
In  shape  no  bigger  than  an  agate-stone 
On  the  fore-finger  of  an  alderman. 
Drawn  with  a  team  of  little  atomies 
Athwart  men's  noses  as  they  lie  asleep  : 
Her  wagon-spokes  made  of  long  spinners'  legs ; 
The  cover,  of  the  wings  of  grasshoppers  ; 
The  traces,  of  the  smallest  spider's  web  ; 
The  collars,  of  the  moonshine's  watery  beams ; 
Her  whip,  of  cricket's  bone  ;  the  lash,  of  film  : 
Her  wagoner,  a  small  gray-coated  gnat. 
Not  half  so  big  as  a  round  little  worm 
Prick'd  from  the  lazy  finger  of  a  maid  : 
Her  chariot  is  an  empty  hazel-nut, 
M^ide  by  tlic  joiner  squirrel,  or  old  grub, 
Time  out  of  mind  the  fairies'  coach-makers. 
And  in  this  state  she  gallops  night  by  night 
Through  lover's  brains,  and  then  they  dream,  of  love  ; 
O'er  courtiers'  knees,  that  dream  on  courtsics  straight ; 
O'er  lawyers'  fingers,  who  straight  dream  on  fees: 
O'er  ladies'  lips,  who  straight  on  kisses  dream  ; 
Which  oft  the  angry  Mab  with  blisters  plagues. 


204  ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS. 

Because  their  breaths  with  sweetmeats  tanited  are. 
Sometimes  she  gallops  o'er  a  courtier's  nose, 
And  then  dreams  he  of  smelling  out  a  suit : 
And  sometimes  comes  she  with  a  tithe-pig's  tail, 
Tickling  a  parson's  nose  as  he  lies  asleep, 
Then  dreams  he  of  another  benefice. 
Sometimes  she  driveth  o'er  a  soldier's  neck, 
And  then  dreams  he  of  cutting  foreign  throats, 
Of  breaches,  ambuscadoes,  Spanish  blades, 
Of  healths  five  fathom  deep  ;  and  then  anon 
Drums  in  his  ear ;  at  which  he  starts,  and  wakes ; 
And,  being  thus  frighted,  swears  a  prayer  or  two, 
And  sleeps  again.  Shakespearb. 


ROBERT  OF  LINCOLN, 

Merrily  swinging  on  brier  and  vveed, 

Near  to  the  nest  of  his  little  dame, 
Over  the  mountain-side  or  mead, 

Robert  of  Lincoln  is  telHng  his  name: 
Bob-o'-link,  bob-o'-link, 
Spink,  spank,  spink  ; 
Snug  and  safe  is  that  nest  of  ours, 
Hidden  among  the  summer  flowers. 
Chee,  chee,  chee. 

Robert  of  Lincoln  is  gayly  dressed. 

Wearing  a  bright  black  wedding  coat ; 
White  are  his  shoulders  and  white  his  crest, 
Hear  him  call  in  his  merry  note  : 
Bob-o'-link,  bob-o'-link, 
Spink,  spank,  spink  ; 
Look,  what  a  nice  new  coat  is  mine  ! 
Sure  there  was  never  a  bird  so  fine. 
Chee,  chee,  chee. 


ADVANCED    RI:ADIXGS    AND    RECITATIONS.  205 

Robert  of  Lincoln's  Quaker  wife, 

Pretty  and  quiet,  with  plain  brown  wings, 
Passing  at  home  a  patient  life. 

Broods  in  the  grass  while  her  husband  sings: 
Bob-o'-link,  bob-oMink, 
Spink,  spank,  spink  ; 
Brood,  kind  creature  ;  you  need  not  fear 
Thieves  and  robbers  while  I  am  here. 
Chee,  chee,  chee. 

Modest  and  shy  as  a  nun  is  she, 

One  weak  chirp  is  her  only  note  ; 
Braggart  and  prince  of  braggarts  is  he, 
Pouring  boasts  from  his  little  throat : 
Bob-o*-link,  bob-o'-link, 
Spink,  spank,  spink  ; 
Never  was  I  afraid  of  man  ; 
Catch  me,  cowardly  knaves,  if  you  can. 
Chee,  chee,  chee. 

Six  white  eggs  on  a  bed  of  hay. 

Flecked  with  purple,  a  pretty  sight ! 
There  as  the  mother  sits  all  day, 

Robert  is  singing  with  all  his  might: 
Bob-o'-link,  bob-o'-link, 
Spink,  spank,  spink  ; 
Nice  good  wife,  that  never  goes  out, 
Keeping  house  while  I  frolic  about. 
Chee,  chee,  chee. 

Soon  as  the  little  ones  chip  the  shell, 
Six  wide  mouths  are  open  for  food  ; 
Robert  of  Lincoln  bestirs  him  well. 
Gathering  seed  for  the  hungry  brood. 
Bob-o'-link,  bob-o'-link, 
Spink,  spank,  spink  ; 
This  new  life  is  likely  to  be 
Hard  for  a  gay  young  fellow  like  me.   . 
Chee,  chee,  chee. 


206  ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS. 

Robert  of  Lincoln  at  length  is  made 

Sober  with  work  and  silent  with  care ; 
Off  is  his  holiday  garment  laid, 
Half  forgotten  that  merry  air, 
Bob-o'-link,  bob-oMink, 
Spink,  spank,  spink  ; 
Nobody  knows  but  my  mate  and  I 
Where  our  nest  and  our  nestlings  lie, 
Chee,  chee,  chee. 

Summer  wanes  ;   the  children  are  grown  ; 

Fun  and  frolic  no  more  he  knows; 

Robert  of  Lincoln  's  a  humdrum  crone, 

Off  he  flies,  and  we  sing  as  he  goes : 

Bob-o'-link,  bob-oMink, 

Spink,  spank,  spink ; 

When  you  can  pipe  that  merry  old  strain, 

Robert  of  Lincoln,  come  back  again. 

Chee,  chee,  chee. 

W.  C.  Bryant. 


REPLY  OF  PITT  TO    W A  LP  OLE, 

Sir,  —  The  atrocious  crime  of  being  a  young  man,  which 
the  honorable  gentleman  has,  with  such  spirit  and  decenc} , 
cliarged  upon  me,  I  shall  neither  attempt  to  palliate  nor 
deny  ;  but  content  myself  with  wishing  that  I  may  be  one  of 
those  whose  follies  may  cease  with  their  youth,  and  not 
of  that  number  who  are  ignorant  in  spite  of  experience. 
Whetlier  youth  can  be  imputed  to  any  man  as  a  reproach, 
I  will  not,  sir,  assume  the  province  of  determining;  but 
surely  age  may  become  justly  contemptible,  if  the  oppor- 
tunities which  it  brings  have  passed  away  without  improve- 
ment, and  vice  appears  to  prevail  when  the  passions  have 
subsided. 

The  wretch  who,  after  having  seen  the  consequences  of 


ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS.  207 

a  thousand  errors,  continues  still  to  blunder,  and  whose 
age  has  only  added  obstinacy  to  stupidity,  is  surely  the 
object  either  of  abhorrence  or  contempt,  and  deserves  not 
that  his  gray  hairs  should  secure  him  from  insult.  Much 
more,  sir,  is  he  to  be  abhorred,  who  as  he  has  advanced 
in  age,  lias  receded  from  virtue,  and  become  more  wicked 
with  less  temptation  ;  who  prostitutes  himself  for  money 
which  he  cannot  enjoy,  and  spends  the  remains  of  his  life  in 
the  ruin  of  his  country. 

But  youth,  sir,  is  not  my  only  crime  ;  I  have  been  accused 
of  acting  a  theatrical  part.  A  theatrical  part  may  either 
imply  some  peculiarities  of  gesture,  or  a  dissimulation  of  my 
real  sentiments,  and  an  adoption  of  the  opinions  and  lan- 
guage of  another  man. 

In  the  first  sense,  sir,  the  charge  is  too  trifling  to  be 
confuted,  and  deserves  only  to  be  mentioned,  that  it  may 
be  despised.  I  am  at  liberty,  like  every  other  man,  to  use 
my  own  language  ;  and  though,  perhaps,  I  may  have  some 
ambition  to  please  this  gentleman,  I  shall  not  lay  myself 
under  any  restraint,  nor  very  solicitously  copy  his  diction 
or  his  mien,  however  matured  by  age,  or  modelled  by 
experience. 

But  if  any  man  shall,  by  charging  me  with  theatrical 
behavior  imply  that  I  utter  any  sentiments  but  my  own, 
I  shall  treat  him  as  a  calumniator  and  a  villain  ;  nor  shall 
any  protection  shelter  him  from  the  treatment  he  deserves. 
I  shall,  on  such  an  occasion,  without  scruple,  trample  upon 
all  those  forms  wdth  which  wealth  and  dignity  intrench 
themselves;  nor  shall  anything  but  age  restrain  my  resent- 
ment,^—  age,  which  always  brings  one  privilege,  that  ox 
bein<4  insolent  and  supercilious,  without  punishment. 

But  with  regard,  sir,  to  those  whom  I  have  offended,  I  ;nr. 
of  the  opinion  that  if  I  had  acted  a  borrowed  part,  I  >iionld 
hive  avoided  their  censure  ;  the  heat  that  oftended  them  is 
the  ardor  of  conviction,  and  that  zeal  for  the  service  of  my 
country  which  neither  hope  nor  fear  shall  influence  me  to 
suppress.     I  will  not  sit   unconcerned  while   my  liberty  is 


20S  ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS. 

ii.  .ailed,  nor  look  in  silence  upon  public  robbery.  I  will 
exert  my  endeavors,  at  whatever  hazard,  to  repel  the  ag- 
gressor, and  drag  the  thief  to  justice,  whoever  may  pro- 
tect him  in  his  villainy,  and  whoever  may  partake  of  his 
plunder.  Lord  Chatham. 


SEVEN  AGES  OF  MAN 

All  the  world's  a  stage. 
And  all  the  men  and  women  merely  players ; 
They  have  their  exits  and  their  entrances  ; 
And  one  man  in  his  time  plays  many  parts, 
His  acts  being  seven  ages.     At  first,  the  infant, 
Mewling  and  puking  in  the  nurses  arms. 
Then  the  whining  school-boy,  with  his  satchel, 
And  shining  morning  face,  creeping  like  snail 
Unwillingly  to  school.     And  then  the  lover, 
Sighing  like  furnace,  with  a  woful  ballad 
Made  to  his  mistress*  eyebrow.     Then,  a  soldier, 
Full  of  strange  oaths,  and  bearded  like  the  pard, 
Jealous  in  honor,  sudden  and  quick  in  quarrel. 
Seeking  the  bubble  reputation 

Even  in  the  cannon's  mouth.     And  then  the  justice, 
In  fair  round  belly  with  good  capon  lined. 
With  eyes  severe,  and  beard  of  formal  cut. 
Full  of  wise  saws  and  modern  instances ; 
And  so  he  plays  his  part ;  the  sixth  age  shifts 
Into  the  lean  and  slippered  pantaloon, 
With  spectacles  on  nose,  and  pouch  on  side ; 
His  youthful  hose,  well  saved,  a  world  too  wide 
For  his  shrunk  shank  ;  and  his  big  manly  voice, 
Turning  again  toward  childish  treble,  pipes 
And  whistles  in  his  sound.     Last  scene  of  all. 
That  ends  this  strange  eventful  history. 
Is  second  childishness,  and  mere  oblivion,  — 
Sans  teeth,  sans  eyes,  sans  taste,  sans  everything. 

Shakespeare. 


ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS.  209 


THE    WATER-MILL, 

Oh  !  listen  to  the  water-mill,  through  all  the  live-long  day, 
As  the  clickin<^  of  the  wheels  wears  hour  by  hour  away  ; 
How  languidly  the  autumn  wind  doth  stir  the  withered  leaves, 
As  on  the  field  the  reapers  sing,  while  binding  up  the  sheaves  I 
A  solemn  proverb  strikes  my  mind,  and  as  a  spell  is  cast, 
*'  The  mill  will  never  grind  again  with  water  that  is  past." 

The  summer  winds  revive  no  more  leaves  strewn  o'er  earth 

and  main, 
The  sickle  never  more  will  reap  the  yellow  garnered  grain  ; 
Tiie  rippling  stream  flows  ever  on,  aye,  tranquil,  deep  and 

still. 
But  never  glideth  back  again  to  busy  water-mill. 
The  solemn  proverb  speaks  to  all,  with  meaning  deep  and 

vast, 
'^The  mill  will  never  grind  again  with  water  that  is  past." 

Oh  !  clasp  the  proverb  to  thy  soul,  dear  loving  heart  and 
true. 

For  golden  years  are  fleeting  by,  and  youth  is  passing  too ; 

Ah  !   learn  to  make  the  most  of  life,  nor  lose  one  happy  day, 

For  time  will  ne'er  return  sweet  joys  neglected,  thrown  away  ; 

Nor  leave  one  tender  word  unsaid,  thy  kindness  sow  broad- 
cast — 

*•'  The  mill  will  never  grind  again  with  water  that  is  past." 

Oh  !  the  wasted  hours  of  life  that  have  swiftly  drifted  by, 
Alas  !  the   good  we   might   have  done,  all  gone  without  a 

sigh  ; 
Love  that  we  might  once  have  saved  by  a  single  kindly  word, 
Thoughts  conceived  but  ne'er  expressed,  perishing  unpeimed, 

unheard. 
Oh  !  take  the  lesson  to  thy  vSoul,  forever  clasp  it  fast, 
^'  The  mill  will  never  grind  again  with  w^ater  that  is  past." 
14 


210  ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS. 

Work  on  while  yet  the  sun  doth  shine,  thou  man  of  strengtli 
and    will, 

The  streamlet  ne'er  doth  useless  glide  by  clicking  water-mill  ; 

Xor  wait  until  to-morrow's  light  beams  brightly  on  thy  wav, 

For  all  that  thou  canst  call  thine  own  lies  in  the  phrase  ''  to- 
day :  " 

Possessions,  power,  and  blooming  health  must  all  be  lost  v>t 
last  — 

"  The  mill  will  never  grind  again  with  water  that  is  past." 

Oh  !  love  thy  God  and  fellow-man,  thyself  consider  last, 
For  come  it  will  when  thou  must  scan  dark  errors  of  the  past ; 
Soon  will  this  fight  of  life   be  o'er,  and   earth    recede   from 

view. 
And  heaven  in  all  its  glory  shine  where  all  is  pure  and  true. 
Ah  !  then  thou 'It  see  more  clearly  still  the  proverb  deep  and 

vast, 
*'  The  mill  will  never  grind  again  with  water  that  is  past." 

D.   C.   MCCULLUM. 


SOUTH  CAROLINA  AND  MASSACHUSETTS. 

The  eulogium  pronounced  on  the  character  of  the  State  of 
South  Carolina,  by  the  honorable  gentleman,  for  her  Revolu- 
tionary and  other  merits,  meets  my  hearty  concurrence.  I 
shall  not  acknowledge  that  the  honorable  member  goes  before 
me,  in  regard  for  whatever  of  distinguished  talent  or  dis- 
tinguished character  South  Carolina  has  produced.  I  claim 
part  of  the  honor  :  I  partake  in  the  pride  of  her  great  names. 
I  claim  them  for  countrymen,  one  and  all.  The  Laurenses, 
the  Rutledges,  the  Pinckneys,  the  Sumters,  the  Marions,  — 
Americans,  all,  —  whose  fame  is  no  more  to  be  hemmed  in 
by  State  lines,  than  their  talents  and  patriotism  were  capable 
of  being  circumscribed  within  the  same  narrow  limits. 

In  their  day  and  generation,  they  served  and  honored  the 
country,  and  the  whole  country  ;  and  their  renown  is  of  the 


ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS.  211 

treasures  of  the  whole  country.  Him  whose  honored  name 
the  gentleman  himself  hears,  —  does  he  suppose  me  less 
capable  of  gratitude  for  his  patriotism,  or  sympathy  for  his 
sufferings,  than  if  his  eyes  had  first  opened  upon  the  light  in 
Massachusetts,  instead  of  South  Carolina?  Sir,  does  he  sup- 
pose it  is  in  his  power  to  exhil:)it  a  Carolina  name  so  bright 
as  to  produce  envy  in  my  bosom?  No,  sir  ;  increased  grati- 
Hcation  and  delight,  rather.  Sir,  I  thank  God,  that,  if  I  am 
!^ifted  with  little  of  the  spirit  which  is  said  to  be  able  to  raise 
mortals  to  the  skies,  I  have  yet  none,  as  I  trust,  of  that  other 
spirit,  which  would  drag  angels  down. 

When  I  shall  be  found,  sir,  in  my  place  here  in  the  Senate, 
or  elsewhere,  to  sneer  at  public  merit,  because  it  happened  to 
spring  up  beyond  the  little  limits  of  my  own  State  or  neigh- 
l)orhood  ;  when  I  refuse,  for  any  such  cause,  or  for  any  cause, 
the  homage  due  to  American  talent,  to  elevated  patriotism, 
to  sincere  devotion  to  liberty  and  the  country  ;  or,  if  I  see  an 
uncommon  endowment  of  Heaven  ;  if  I  see  extraordinary 
capacity  and  virtue  in  any  son  of  the  South  ;  and  if,  moved 
by  local  prejudice,  or  gangrened  by  State  jealousy,  I  get  up 
here  to  abate  the  tithe  of  a  hair  from  his  just  character  and 
just  fame,  —  may  my  tongue  cleave  to  the  roof  of  my  mouth  ! 

vSir,  let  me  recur  to  pleasing  recollections  :  let  me  indulge 
in  refreshing  remembrances  of  the  past:  let  me  remind  you 
that,  in  early  times,  no  States  cherished  greater  harmony, 
both  of  principle  and  feeling,  than  Massachusetts  and  South 
Carolina.  Would  to  God  that  harmony  might  again  retiu*n  ! 
Shoulder  to  shoulder  they  went  through  the  Revolution  : 
hand  in  hand,  they  stood  round  the  administration  of  W^ish- 
ington,  and  felt  his  own  great  arm  lean  on  them  for  support. 
Unkind  feeling,  if  it  exist,  alienation  and  distrust,  are  the 
growth  —  unnatural  to  such  soils  —  of  false  principles  since 
sown.  They  are  weeds,  the  seeds  of  which  that  same  great 
arm  never  scattered. 

Mr.  President,  I  shall  enter  on  no  encomium  upon  Massa- 
chusetts :  she  needs  none.  There  she  is,  —  behold  her,  and 
judge   for  yourselves.     There   is    her    history,  —  the    world 


212  ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS. 

knows  it  by  heart.  The  past,  at  least,  is  secure.  There  is 
Boston,  and  Concord,  and  Lexington,  and  Bunker  Hill,  — 
nnd  there  they  will  remain  forever.  The  bones  of  her  sons, 
fallen  in  the  great  struggle  for  independence,  now  lie  mingled 
with  the  soil  of  every  State  from  New  England  to  Georgia  ; 
and  there  they  will  lie  forever. 

And,  sir,  where  American  liberty  raised  its  first  voice,  and 
where  its  youth  was  nurtured  and  sustained,  there  it  still  lives 
in  the  strength  of  its  manhood,  and  full  of  its  original  spirit. 
If  discord  and  disunion  shall  wound  it;  if  party  strife  and 
blind  ambition  shall  hawk  at  and  tear  it ;  if  folly  and  mad- 
ness, if  uneasiness  under  salutary  and  necessary  restraints, 
shall  succeed  to  separate  it  from  that  Union  by  which  alone 
its  existence  is  made  sure,  —  it  will  stand,  in  the  end,  by  the 
side  of  that  cradle  in  which  its  infancy  was  rocked;  it  will 
stretch  forth  its  arm,  with  whatever  of  vigor  it  may  retain, 
over  the  friends  who  gather  round  it ;  and  it  will  fall,  at  last, 
if  fall  it  must,  amidst  the  proudest  monuments  of  its  own 
glory,  on  the  very  spot  of  its  origin  !  Webster. 


SPEECH  OF  HENRY   V.   BEFORE  THE  BATTLE  OF 
AGTNCOURT 

Westmoreland.     O  that  we  now  had  here 
But  one  ten  thousand  of  those  men  in  England, 
That  do  no  work  to-day  ! 

Khig  Henry.     What's  he  that  wishes  so? 
My  cousin  Westmoreland  ?  —  No,  my  fair  cousin  : 
If  we  are  marked  to  die,  we  are  enough 
To  do  our  country  loss  ;  and  if  to  live, 
The  fewer  men  the  greater  share  of  honor. 
God's  will !   I  pray  thee,  wish  not  one  man  more. 
By  Jove,  I  am  not  covetous  for  gold  ; 
Nor  care  I,  who  doth  feed  upon  my  cost ; 
It  yearns  me  not,  if  men  my  garments  wear ; 


ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS.  213 

Such  outward  things  dwell  not  in  my  desires. 

But,  if  it  be  a  sin  to  covet  honor, 

I  am  the  most  offending  soul  alive. 

No,  'faith,  my  coz,  wish  not  a  man  from  England : 

God's  peace !  I  would  not  lose  so  great  an  honor, 

As  one  man  more,  methinks,  would  share  from  me. 

For  the  best  hope  I  have.     Oh,  do  not  wish  one  more : 

Rather  proclaim  it,  Westmoreland,  through  my  host, 

That  he,  who  hath  no  stomach  to  this  fight. 

Let  him  depart;  his  passport  shall  be  made, 

And  crowns  for  convoy  put  into  his  purse : 

We  would  not  die  in  that  man's  company. 

That  fears  his  fellowship  to  die  with  us. 

This  day  is  called  the  feast  of  Crispian  : 

He  that  outlives  this  day,  and  comes  safe  home, 

Will  stand  a  tip-toe  when  this  day  is  named, 

And  rouse  him  at  the  name  of  Crispian. 

He   that  shall  live  this  day,  and  see  old  age, 

Will  yearly  on  the  vigil  feast  his  friends, 

And  say  to-morrow  is  Saint  Crispian  : 

Then  he  will  strip  his  sleeve,  and  show  his  scars, 

And  say,  these  wounds  I  had  on  Crispian's  day. 

Old  men  forget ;  yet  all  shall  be  forgot. 

But  he'll  remember  with  advantages. 

What  feats  he  did  that  day.      Then  shall  our  names, 

Familiar  in  their  mouths  as  household  words,  — 

Harry  the  king,  Bedford  and  Exeter, 

Warwick  and  Talbot,  Salisbury  and  Gloster,  — 

Be  in  their  flowing  cups  freshly  remembered. 

This  story  shall  the  good  man  teach  his  son ; 

And  Crispin  Crispian  shall  ne'er  go  by, 

I  From  this  day  to  the  ending  of  the  world. 
But  we  in  it  shall  be  remembered  ; 
We  few,  we  happy  few,  we  band  of  brothers : 
For  he,  to-day,  that  sheds  his  blood  with  me, 
Shall  be  my  brother ;  be  he  ne'er  so  vile. 


214  ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS. 

And  gentlemen  in  England,  now  a-bed, 
Shall  think  themselves  accursed,  they  were  not  here: 
And  hold  their  manhoods  cheap,  while  any  speaks, 
That  fought  with  us  upon  Saint  Crispian's  day. 

Shakespeare. 


THE   POLISH  BOY. 

Whence  come  those  shrieks  so  wild  and  shrill, 
That  cut,  like  blades  of  steel,  the  air. 

Causing  the  creeping  blood  to  chill 
With  the  sharp  cadence  of  despair? 

Again  they  come,  as  if  a  heart 

Were  cleft  in  twain  by  one  quick  blow, 

And  every  string  had  voice  apart 
To  utter  its  peculiar  woe. 

Whence  came  they  ?    From  yon  temple,  where 
An  altar,  raised  for  private  prayer, 
Now  forms  the  warrior's  marble  bed 
Who  Warsaw's  gallant  armies  led. 

The  dim  funereal  tapers  throw 
A  holy  lustre  o'er  his  brow. 
And  burnish  with  their  rays  of  light 
The  mass  of  curls  that  gather  bright 
Above  the  haughty  brow  and  eye 
Of  a  young  boy  that's  kneeling  by. 

What  hand  is  that,  whose  icy  press 

Clings  to  the  dead  with  death's  own  grasp, 
But  meets  no  answering  caress? 

No  thrilling  fingers  seek  its  clasp. 
It  is  the  hand  of  her  whose  cry 

Rang  wildly,  late,  upon  the  air, 
When  the  dead  warrior  met  her  eye, 

Outstretched  upon  the  altar  there. 


I 


ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS.  215 

With  pallid  lip  and  stony  brow 
She  murmurs  forth  her  anguish  now. 
But  hark  !  the  tramp  of  heavy  feet 
Is  heard  along  the  bloody  street ; 
Nearer  and  nearer  yet  they  come, 
With  clanking  arms  and  noiseless  drum. 
Now  whispered  curses,  low  and  deep, 
Around  the  holy  temple  creep  ; 
The  gate  is  burst ;  a  ruffian  band 
Rush  in,  and  savagely  demand, 
With  brutal  voice  and  oath  profane. 
The  startled  boy  for  exile's  chain. 

The  mother  sprang,  with  gesture  wild, 

And  to  her  bosom  clasped  her  child  ; 

Then,  with  pale  cheek  and  flashing  eye, 

Shouted  with  fearful  energy, 

"  Back,  ruffians,  back  !  nor  dare  to  tread 

Too  near  the  body  of  my  dead  ; 

Nor  touch  the  living  boy  ;  I  stand 

Between  him  and  your  lawless  band. 

Take  me,  and  bind  these  arms,  these  hands, 

With  Russia's  heaviest  iron  bands, 

And  drag  me  to  Siberia's  wild 

To  perish,  if  'twill  save  my  child  !  " 

"  Peace,  woman,  peace  !  "  the  leader  cried, 
Tearing  the  pale  boy  from  her  side, 
And  in  his  ruffian  grasp  he  bore 
His  victim  to  the  temple  door. 
"  One  moment !  "  shrieked  the  mother  ;  "  one  ! 
Will  land  or  gold  redeem  my  son? 
Take  heritage,  take  name,  take  all. 
But  leave  him  free  from  Russian  thrall ! 
Take  these  !  "  and  her  white  arms  and  hands 
She  stripped  of  rings  and  diamond  bands, 
And  tore  from  braids  of  long  black  hair 
The  gems  that  gleamed  like  starlight  there  : 


216  ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS. 

Her  cross  of  blazing  rubies,  last, 
Down  at  the  Russian's  feet  she  cast. 
He  stooped  to  seize  the  glittering  store  ;-^ 
Up  springing  from  the  marble  floor, 
The  mother,  with  a  cry  of  joy. 
Snatched  to  her  leaping  heart  the  boy. 
But  no  !  the  Russian's  iron  grasp 
Again  undid  the  mother's  clasp. 
Forward  she  fell,  with  one  long  cry 
Of  more  than  mortal  agony. 

But  the  brave  child  is  roused  at  length, 

And,  breaking  from  J:he  Russian's  hold, 
He  stands,  a  giant  in  the  strength 

Of  his  young  spirit,  fierce  and  bold. 
Proudly  he  towers ;  his  flashing  eye, 

So  blue,  and  yet  so  bright, 
Seems  kindled  from  the  eternal  sky. 

So  brilliant  is  its  light. 
His  curling  lips  and  crimson  cheeks 
Foretell  the  thought  before  he  speaks ; 
With  a  full  voice  of  proud  command 
He  turned  upon  the  wondering  band: 
"  Ye  hold  me  not !  no,  no  !   nor  can  ; 
This  hour  has  made  the  boy  a  man. 
I  knelt  before  my  slaughtered  sire. 
Nor  felt  one  tlirob  of  vengeful  ire. 
I  wept  iPpon  his  marble  brow ; 
Yes,  wept !     I  was  a  child  ;  but  now 
My  noble  mother,  on  her  knee, 
Hath  done  the  work  of  years  for  me ! 

He  drew  aside  his  broidered  vest, 

And  there,  like  slumbering  serpent's  crest, 

The  jewelled  haft  of  poniard  bright 

Glittered  a  moment  on  the  sight. 

"  Ha  !  start  ye  back?     Fool !  coward  !  knave  ! 

Think  ye  my  noble  father's  glaive 

Would  drink  the  life-blood  of  a  slave? 


ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS.  217 

The  pearls  that  on  the  handle  flame 
Would  blush  to  rubies  in  their  shame  ; 
The  blade  would  quiver  in  thy  breast, 
Ashamed  of  such  ignoble  rest. 
No  !  thus  I  rend  the  tyrant's  chain, 
And  fling  him  back  a  boy's  disdain !  " 

A  moment,  and  the  funeral  light 
Flashed  on  the  jewelled  weapon  brighl  ., 
Another,  and  his  young  heart's  blood 
Leaped  to  the  floor,  a  crimson  flood. 
Qiiick  to  his  mother's  side  he  sprang, 
And  on  the  air  his^clear  voice  rang: 
''  Up,  mother,  up  !  I'm  free  !  I'm  free  ! 
The  choice  was  death  or  slavery. 
Up,  mother,  up  !     Look  on  thy  son ! 
His  freedom  is  forever  won  ; 
And  now  he  waits  one  li^oly  kiss 
To  bear  his  father  home*  in  bliss. 
One  last  embrace,  one  blessing,  —  one! 
To  prove  thou  knowest,  approvest  tliy  son. 
What !  silent  yet?     Canst  thou  not  feel 
My  warm  blood  o'er  thy  heart  congeal  ? 
Speak,  mother,  speak !  lift  up  thy  head  ! 
What !  silent  still?     Then  art  thou  dead  ! 

Great  God,  I  thank  thee  !     Mother,  I 

Rejoice  with  thee,  —  and  thus,  —  to  die." 
One  long,  deep  breath,  and  his  pale  head 
Lay  on  his  mother's  bosom,  —  dead. 

Ann  S.  Stephens. 


218  ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS. 


BREAK,  BREAK,  BREAK. 

Break,  break,  break, 

On  thy  cold  gray  stones,  O  Sea ! 
And  I  would  that  my  tongue  could  utter 

The  thoughts  that  arise  in  me. 

Oh,  well  for  the  fisherman's  boy 

That  he  shouts  with  his  sister  at  play ! 

Oh,  well  for  the  sailor  lad, 

That  he  sings  in  his  boat  on  the  bay! 

And  the  stately  ships  go  on 

To  their  haven  under  the  hill ; 
But  Oh,  for  the  touch  of  the  vanished  hand, 

And  the  sound  of  a  voice  that  is  still ! 

Break,  break,  break. 

At  the  foot  of  thy  crags,  O  Sea  ! 
But  the  tender  grace  of  a  day  that  is  dead, 

Will  never  come  back  to  me. 

Tennyson. 


LOSS  OF  THE  ARCTIC. 

It  was  autumn.  Hundreds  had  wended  their  way  from 
pilgrimages;  —  from  Rome  and  its  treasures  of  dead  art, 
and  its  glory  of  living  nature  ;  from  the  sides  of  the  Svvit- 
zer's  mountains,  and  from  the  capitals  of  various  nations,  — 
all  of  them  saying  in  their  hearts,  we  will  wait  for  the  Sep- 
tember gales  to  have  done  with  their  equinoctial  fury,  and 
then  we  will  embark  ;  we  will  slide  across  the  appeased 
ocean,  and  in  the  gorgeous  month  of  October  we  will  greet 
our  longed-for  native  land,  and  our  heart-loved  homes. 

And  so  the  throng  streamed  along  from  Berlin,  from 
Paris,  from  the  Orient,  converging  upon  London,  still  hasten- 


ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS.  219 

ing  toward  the  welcome  ship,  and  narrowing  every  day  the 
circle  of  engagements  and  preparations.  They  crowded 
aboard.  Never  had  the  Arctic  borne  such  a  host  of  passen- 
gers, nor  passengers  so  nearly  related  to  so  many  of  us.  The 
hour  was  come.  The  signal-ball  fell  at  Greenwich.  It  was 
noon  also  at  Liverpool.  The  ancliors  were  weighed  ;  the 
great  hull  swayed  to  the  current ;  the  national  colors  streamed 
abroad,  as  if  themselves  instinct  with  life  and  national  sym- 
pathy. The  bell  strikes  ;  the  wheels  revolve  ;  the  signal-gun 
beats  its  echoes  in  upon  every  structure  along  the  shore,  and 
the  Arctic  glides  joyfully  forth  from  the  Mersey,  and  turns 
her  prow  to  the  winding  channel,  and  begins  her  homeward 
run.  The  pilot  stood  at  the  wheel,  and  men  saw  him. 
Death  sat  upon  the  prow,  and  no  eye  beheld  him.  Who- 
ever stood  at  the  wheel  in  all  the  voyjige,  Death  was  the 
pilot  that  steered  the  craft,  and  none  knew  it.  He  neither 
revealed  his  presence  nor  whispered  his  errand. 

And  so  hope  was  effulgent,  and  lithe  gayety  disported  it- 
self, and  joy  was  with  every  guest.  Amid  all  the  incon- 
veniences of  the  voyage,  there  was  still  that  which  hushed 
every  murmur,  —  '^  Home  is  not  far  away."  And  every 
morning  it  was  still  one  night  nearer  home  !  Eight  days 
had  passed.  They  beheld  that  distant  bank  of  mist  that  for- 
ever  haunts  the  vast  shallows  of  Newfoundland.  Boldly 
they  made  it ;  and  plunging  in,  its  pliant  wreaths  wrappL^d 
them  about.  They  shall  never  emerge.  The  last  sunlight 
has  flashed  from  that  deck.  The  last  voyage  is  done  to  ship 
and  passengers.  At  noon  there  came  noiselessly  stealing 
from  the  north  that  fated  instrument  of  destruction.  In  that 
mysterious  shroud,  that  vast  atmosphere  of  mist,  both  steam- 
ers were  holding  their  way  with  rushing  prow  and  roaring 
wheels,  but  invisible. 

At  a  league's  distance,  unconscious ;  and  at  nearer  ap- 
proach, unwarned  ;  within  hail,  and  bearing  right  toward 
each  otiier,  unseen,  unfelt,  till  in  a  moment  more,  emerging 
from  the  gray  mists,  the  ill-omened  Vesta  dealt  lier  deadly 
stroke  to    the    Arctic.      The    death-blow  was    scarcely   fcU 


220  ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS. 

along  the  mighty  hull.  She  neither  reeled  nor  shivered. 
Neither  cominander  nor  officers  deemed  that  they  had  suf- 
fered harm.  Prompt  upon  humanity,  the  brave  L-ice  (let 
his  name  be  ever  spoken  with  admiration  and  respect)  or- 
dered away  his  boat  with  the  first  officer  to  inquire  if  the 
stranger  had  suffered  harm.  As  Gourley  went  over  the 
ship's  side,  oh,  that  some  good  angel  had  called  to  the  brave 
commander  in  the  words  of  Paul  on  a  like  occasion,  '*  Ex- 
cept these  abide  in  the  ship,  ye  cannot  be  saved." 

They  departed,  and  with  them  the  hope  of  the  ship,  for 
now  the  waters  gaining  upon  the  hold,  and  rising  upon  'the 
fires,  revealed  the  mortal  blow.  Oh,  had  now  that  stern, 
brave  mate,  Gourley,  been  on  deck,  whom  the  sailors  were 
wont  to  mind,  —  had  he  stood  to  execute  sufficiently  the 
commander's  will,  —  we  may  believe  that  we  should  not 
have  had  to  blush  for  the  cowardice  and  recreancy  of  the 
crew,  nor  weep  for  the  untimely  dead.  But,  apparently, 
each  subordinate  officer  lost  all  presence  of  mind,  then  cour- 
age, and  so  honor.  In  a  wild  scramble,  that  ignoble  mob 
of  firemen,  engineers,  waiters,  and  crew,  rushed  for  the  boats, 
and  abandoned  the  helpless  women,  children,  and  men,  to 
the  mercy  of  the  deep  !  Four  hours  there  were  from  the 
catastrophe  of  collision  to  the  catastrophe  of  sinking! 

Oh,  what  a  burial  was  here  I  Not  as  when  one  is  borne 
from  his  home,  among  weeping  throngs,  and  gently  carried 
to  the  green  fields,  and  laid  peacefully  beneath  the  turf  and 
flowers.  No  priest  stood  to  pronounce  a  burial-service.  It 
was  an  ocean-grave.  The  mists  alone  shrouded  the  burial- 
place.  No  spade  prepared  the  grave,  nor  sexton  filled  up 
the  hollowed  earth.  Down,  down  they  sank,  and  the  quick 
returning  waters  smoothed  out  every  ripple,  and  left  the 
sea  as  if  it  had  not  been.  Henry  Ward  Beecher. 


ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS.  221 


MAGDALENA,  OR   THE  SPANISH  DUEL. 

Near  the  city  of  Sevilla, 

Years  and  years  ago  — 
Dwelt  a  lady  in  a  villa 

Years  and  years  ago  ;  — 
And  her  hair  was  black  as  night, 
And  her  eyes  were  starry  bright ; 
Olives  on  her  brow  were  blooming, 
Roses  red  her  lips  perfuming, 
And  her  step  was  light  and  airy 
As  the  tripping  of  a  fairy  ; 
When  she  spoke,  you  thought,  each  minute, 
'Twas  the  trilling  of  a  linnet ; 
When  she  sang,  you  heard  a  gush 
Of  full-voiced  sweetness  like  a  thrush  ; 
And  she  struck  from  the  guitar 
Ringing  music,  sweeter  far 
Than  the  morning  breezes  make 
Through  the  lime-trees  when  they  shake— » 
Than  the  ocean  murmuring  o'er 
Pebbles  on  the  foamy  shore. 
Orphaned  both  of  sire  and  mother 

Dwelt  she  in  that  lonely  villa, 
Absent  now  her  guardian  brother 

On  a  mission  from  Sevilla. 
Skills  it  little  now  the  telling 

How  I  wooed  that  maiden  fair, 
Tracked  her  to  her  lonely  dwelling 

And  obtained  an  entrance  there. 
Ah  !  that  lady  of  the  villa  — 

And  I  loved  her  so, 
Near  the  city  of  Sevilla, 

Years  and  years  ago. 


222  ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS. 

Ay  de  mi !  —  Like  echoes  falling 
Sweet  and  sad  and  low, 

Voices  come  at  night,  recalling 
Years  and  years  ago. 

Once  again  I*m  sitting  near  thee, 

Beautiful  and  bright ; 
Once  again  I  see  and  hear  thee 

In  the  autumn  night ; 
Once  again  Vm  whispering  to  thee 

Faltering  words  of  love  ; 
Once  again  with  song  I  woo  thee 

In  the  orange-grove 
Growing  near  that  lonely  villa 

Where  the  waters  flow 
Down  to  the  city  of  Sevilla  — 

Years  and  years  ago. 

'Twas  an  autumn  eve ;  the  splendor 

Of  the  day  was  gone, 
And  the  twilight,  soft  and  tender. 

Stole  so  gently  on 
That  the  eye  could  scarce  discover 
How  the  shadows,  spreading  over, 

Like  a  veil  of  silver  gray, 
Toned  the  golden  clouds,  sun-painted. 
Till  they  paled,  and  paled,  and  fainted 

From  the  face  of  heaven  away. 
And  a  dim  light,  rising  slowly, 

O'er  the  welkin  spread. 
Till  the  blue  sky,  calm  and  holy, 

Gleamed  above  our  head  ; 
And  the  thin  moon,  newly  nascent, 

Shone  in  glory  meek  and  sweet, 
As  Murillo  paints  her  crescent 

Underneath  Madonna's  feet. 


ADVANCED    READINGS  .  AND    RECITATIONS.  223 

And  we  sat  outside  the  villa 

Where  the  waters  flow 
Down  to  the  city  of  Sevilla  — 

Years  and  years  ago. 

There  we  sat  —  the  mighty  river 

Wound  its  serpent  course  along 
Silent,  dreamy  Guadalquiver, 

Famed  in  many  a  song, 
Silver  gleaming  'mid  the  plain 

Yellow  with  die  golden  grain, 
Gliding  down  through  deep,  rich  meadows 

Where  the  sated  cattle  rove, 
Stealing  underneath  the  shadows 

Of  the  verdant  olive-grove ; 
With  its  plenitude  of  waters. 

Ever  flowing  calm  and  slow, 
Loved  by  Andalusia's  daughters, 

Sung  by  poets  long  ago. 

Seated  half  within  a  bower, 

Where  the  languid  evening  breeze 

Shook  out  odors  in  a  shower 

From  oranges  and  citron  trees, 

Sang  she  from  a  romancero. 

How  a  Moorish  chieftain  bold 
Fought  a  Spanish  caballero 

By  Sevilla's  walls  of  old. 

How  they  battled  for  a  lady. 

Fairest  of  the  maids  of  Spain  -^ 
How  the  Christian's  lance,  so  steady, 

Pierced  the  Moslem  through  the  brain. 

Then  she  ceased  —  her  black  eyes  moving. 
Flashed,  as  asked  she  with  a  smile, — 

"  Say,  are  maids  as  fair  and  loving  — 
Men  as  faithful  in  your  isle?  " 


224  ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS. 

"British  maids,'*  I  said,  ''are  ever 

Counted  fairest  of  the  fair ; 
Like  the  swans  on  yonder  river 

Moving  w^ith  a  stately  air. 

"Wooed  not  quickly,  w^on  not  lightly  — 
But,  w^hen  v^on,  forever  true  ; 

Trial  draws  the  bond  more  tightly, 
Time  can  ne'er  the  knot  undo." 

"  And  the  men  ?  "  —  "  Ah  !  dearest  lady, 
Are  —  quien  sabe  ?  who  can  say  ? 

To  make  love  they're  ever  ready, 

Where  they  can  and  where  they  may ; 

"  Fixed  as  waves,  as  breezes  steady 

In  a  changeful  April  day  — 
Como  brisas,  como  rios. 

No  se  sabe,  sabe  Dios.'* 

"  Are  they  faithful ?  "  —  "  Ah  !  quien  sabe? 

Who  can  answer  that  they  are? 
While  we  may  we  should  be  happy."  — 

Then  I  took  up  her  guitar. 
And  I  sang  in  sportive  strain, 
This  song  to  an  old  air  of  Spain. 

"  Quien  Sabe." 

"  The  breeze  of  the  evening  that  cools  the  hot  air, 
That  kisses  the  orange  and  shakes  out  thy  hair. 
Is  its  freshness  less  welcome,  less  sweet  its  perfume, 
That  you  know  not  the  region  from  which  it  is  come? 
Whence  the  wind  blows,  where  the  wind  goes. 
Hither  and  thither  and  whither —  who  knows? 

Who  knows? 
Hither  and  thither  —  but  whither  —  who  knows? 


ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS.  225 

"  The  river  forever  glides  singing  along, 

The  rose  on  the  bank  bends  down  to  its  song ; 

And  the  flower,  as  it  listens,  unconsciously  dips, 

Till  the  rising  wave  glistens  and  kisses  its  lips. 

But  why  the  wave  rises  and  kisses  the  rose. 

And  why  the  rose  stoops  for  those  kisses  — who  knows? 

Who  knows? 
And  away  flows  the  river  —  but  whither  —  who  knows? 

''  Let  me  be  the  breeze,  love,  that  wanders  along 

The  river  that  ever  rejoices  in  song ; 

Be  thou  to  my  fancy  the  orange  in  bloom, 

The  rose  by  the  river  that  gives  its  perfume, 

Would  the  fruit  be  so  golden,  so  fragrant  the  rose, 

If  no  breeze  and  no  wave  were  to  kiss  them? 

Who  knows? 

Who  knows? 
If  no  breeze  and  no  wave  were  to  kiss  them? 

Who  knows?" 

As  I  sang,  the  lady  listened. 

Silent  save  one  gentle  sigh  : 
When  I  ceased  a  tear-drop  glistened 

On  the  dark  fringe  of  her  eye. 

Then  my  heart  reproved  the  feeling 

Of  that  false  and  heartless  strain 
Which  I  sang  in  words  concealing 

What  my  heart  would  hide  in  vain. 

Up  I  sprang.     What  words  were  uttered 

Bootless  now  to  think  or  tell  — 
Tongues  speak  wild  when  hearts  are  fluttered 

By  the  mighty  master  spell. 

Love,  avowed  with  sudden  boldness, 

Heard  with  flushings  that  reveal, 
Spite  of  woman's  studied  coldness, 

Thoughts  the  heart  cannot  conceal. 
15 


226  ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS. 

Words  half-vague  and  passion-broken, 
Meaningless,  yet  meaning  all 

That  the  lips  have  left  unspoken, 
That  w^e  never  may  recall. 

"  Magdalena,  dearest,  hear  me," 

Sighed  I,  as  I  seized  her  hand  — 

"  Hola  !  Senor,"  very  near  me, 

Cries  a  voice  of  stern  command 

And  a  stalwart  caballero 

Comes  upon  me  with  a  stride, 

On  his  head  a  slouched  sombrero, 
A  toledo  by  his  side. 

From  his  breast  he  flung  his  capa 
Witii  a  stately  Spanish  air  — 

[On  the  whole  he  looked  the  chap  a 

Man  to  slight  would  scarcely  dare.] 

"  Will  your  worship  have  the  goodness 
To  release  that  lady's  hand?"  — 

"Senor,"  I  replied,  ''this  rudeness 
I  am  not  prepared  to  stand. 

''  Magdalena,  say  '*  —  the  maiden, 
With  a  cry  of  wild  surprise. 

As  with  secret  sorrow  laden. 

Fainting  sank  before  my  eyes. 

Then  the  Spanish  caballero 

Bowed  with  haughty  courtesy, 

Solemn  as  a  tragic  hero. 

And  announced  himself  to  me. 

"  Senor,  I  am  Don  Camillo, 
Guzman  Miguel  Pedrillo 
De  Xymenes  y  Ribera 
Y  Santallos  y  Herrera 


ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS.  227 

Y  de  Rivas  y  Mendoza 

Y  Quintana  y  de  Rosa 

Y  Zorilla  y  "  * 

"  No  more,  sir, 
'Tis  as  good  as  twenty  score,  sir," 

Said  I  to  him  with  a  frown  ; 
"  Mucha  bulla,  para  nada. 
No  palabras,  draw  your  *spada ; 
If  you're  up  for  a  duello 
You  will  find  Fm  just  your  fellow  — 

Senor,  I  am  Peter  Brown  !  " 

By  the  river's  bank  that  night. 

Foot  to  foot  in  strife. 
Fought  we  in  the  dubious  light 

A  fight  of  death  or  life. 

•  Don  Camillo  slashed  my  shoulder, 
With  the  pain  I  grew  the  bolder, 

Close,  and  closer  still  I  pressed ; 

Fortune  favored  me  at  last, 
^  I  broke  his  guard,  my  weapon  passed 

\  Through  the  caballero's  breast  — 

Down  to  the  earth  went  Don  Camillo 

Guzman  Miguel  Pedrillo 

De  Xymenes  y  Ribera 

Y  Santallos  y  Herrera, 

Y  de  Rivas  y  Mendoza 

Y  Qiiintana  y  de  Rosa 

Y  Zorilla  y  —  One  groan. 
And  he  lay  motionless  as  stone, 

*  The  approximately  correct  pronunciation  of  the  Spanish  names 
maybe  indicated  as  follows  :  Sevilla,  Seveelya;  ^tu'e?i  Sabe^  Kee-en 
Sabe  (rt  as  in  father);  Cabellero,  Cavalyaro ;  CavttUo^  Cameelyo; 
Miguel,  Migale;  Pedrillo^  Pcdreelyo;  D  Xymenes  y  Ribera^  Da 
Zimanes  e  Ribara  ;  T  Santallos  y  Herrera,  E  ^antalyos  e  Herrara  ; 
Guzman,  Guthman;  V de  Rivas  y  Mendoza,  E  da  Revas  e  Mendo- 
tha;  T  Quintana  y  de  Ro? a,  Yu  Keentanva  e  de  Rosas  ;  2^  Zorillat 
E  Zoreellya. 


228  ADVANCED    READINGS   AND    RECITATIONS. 

The  man  of  many  names  went  down, 
Pierced  by  the  sword  of  Peter  Brown ! 
Kneeling  down,  I  raised  his  head ; 
The  cabellero  faintly  said, 
"  Senor  Ingles,  fly  from  Spain 
With  all  speed,  for  you  have  slain 
A  Spanish  noble,  Don  Camillo 
Guzman  Miguel  Pedrillo 
De  Xymenes  y  Ribera 

Y  Santallos  y  Herrera 

Y  de  Rivas  y  Mendoza 

Y  Quintana  y  de  Rosa 

Y  Zorilla  y  "  —  He  swooned 
With  the  bleeding  from  his  wound. 
If  he  be  living  still,  or  dead, 

I  never  knew,  I  ne'er  shall  know. 
That  night  from  Spain  in  haste  I  fled, 
Years  and  years  ago. 

Oft  when  autumn  eve  is  closing, 

Pensive,  puffing  a  cigar, 
In  my  chamber  lone  reposing 
Musing  half,  and  half  a-dozing. 

Comes  a  vision  from  afar 
Of  that  lady  of  the  villa 
In  her  satin,  fringed  mantilla, 
And  that  haughty  caballero, 
With  his  capa  and  sombrero, 
Vainly  in  my  mind  revolving 

That  long,  jointed,  endless  name  ;. — 
'Tis  a  riddle  past  my  solving, 

Who  he  was  or  whence  he  came. 
Was  he  that  brother  home  returned? 
Was  he  some  former  lover  spurned? 
Or  some  family  Jiance 
That  the  lady  did  not  fancy? 
Was  he  any  one  of  those? 
Sabe  Dios.     Ah  !  God  knows. 


ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS.  229 

Sadly  smoking  my  manilla, 

Much  I  long  to  know 
How  fares  the  lady  of  the  villa 

That  once  charmed  me  so, 
When  I  visited  Sevilla 

Years  and  years  ago. 
Has  she  married  a  Hidalgo? 
Gone  the  way  that  ladies  all  go 
In  those  drowsy  Spanish  cities, 
Wasting  life — a  thousand  pities  — 
Waking  up  for  a  fiesta 
From  an  afternoon  siesta, 
To  "  Giralda"  now  repairing, 
Or  the  Plaza  for  an  airing ; 
At  the  shaded  reja  flirting. 
At  a  bull-fight  now  disporting ; 
Does  she  walk  at  evenings  ever 
Through  the  gardens  by  the  river  ? 
Guarded  by  an  old  duenna 
Fierce  and  sharp  as  a  hyena. 
With  her  goggles  and  her  fan 
Warning  ofl'  each  wicked  man  ? 
Is  she  dead,  or  is  she  living? 
Is  she  for  my  absence  grieving? 
Is  she  wretched,  is  she  happy? 
Widow,  wife,  or  maid?     ^uien  Sabe? 

J.  F.  Waller. 


BROTHER    W ATKINS. 

We  have  the  subjoined  discourse,  delivered  by  a  Southern 
divine,  who  had  removed  to  a  new  field  of  labor.  To  his 
new  flock,  on  the  first  day  of  his  ministration,  he  gave  some 
reminiscences  of  his  former  charge,  as  follows: 

*'  My  beloved  brethering,  before  I  take  my  text  I  must  tell 


230  ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS. 

you  about  my  parting  with  my  old  congregation.  On  the 
irjorning  of  last  Sabbath  I  went  into  the  meeting-house  to 
preach  my  farewell  discourse.  Just  in  front  of  me  sot  the 
old  fathers  and  mothers  in  Israel ;  the  tears  coursed  down 
their  furrowed  cheeks;  their  tottering  forms  and  quivering 
lips  breathed  out  a  sad — fare  ye  well^  brother  Wat  kins  — 
ah  I  Behind  them  sot  the  middle-aged  men  and  matrons; 
health  and  vigor  beamed  from  every  countenance  ;  and  as 
they  looked  up  I  could  see  in  their  dreamy  eyes — fare  ye 
well^  brother  Watkins  —  ah  !  Behind  them  sot  the  boys 
and  girls  that  I  had  baptized  and  gathered  into  the  Sabbath- 
school.  Many  times  had  they  been  rude  and  boisterous, 
but  now  their  merry  laugh  was  hushed,  and  in  the  silence  I 
could  hear  — fare  ye  well^  brother  Watkins  —  ah  !  Around, 
on  the  back  seats,  and  in  the  aisles,  stood  and  sot  the  colored 
brethering,  with  their  black  faces  and  honest  hearts,  and  as  I 
looked  upon  them  I  could  see  a — fare  ye  ivell^  brother 
Watkins  —  ah  I  When  I  had  finished  my  discourse  and 
shaken  hands  with  the  brethering  —  ah  !  I  passed  out  to  take 
a  last  look  at  the  old  church  —  ah!  the  broken  steps,  the 
flopping  blinds,  and  moss-covered  roof,  suggested  only 
— fare  ye  well^  brother  Watkins  —  ah  I  I  mounted  my 
old  gray  mare,  with  my  earthly  possessions  in  my  saddle- 
bags, and  as  I  passed  down  the  street  the  servant-girls  stood 
in  the  doors,  and  with  their  brooms  waved  me  a  — f(tfc  ye 
well^  brother  Watkins — ah  I  As  I  passed  out  of  the 
village  the  low  wind  blew  softly  through  the  waving 
branches  of  the  trees,  and  moaned  — fare  ye  well^  brother 
Watkins  —  ah  I  I  came  down  to  the  creek,  and  as  the  old 
mare  stopped  to  drink  I  could  hear  the  water  rippling  over 
the  pebbles  a  — fare  ye  welh  brother  Watki?is  —  ah  !  And 
even  the  little  fishes,  as  their  bright  fins  glistened  in  the  sun- 
light, I  thought,  gathered  around  to  say,  as  best  they  could 
— fare  ye  well,  brother  Watkins  —  ah  I  I  was  slowly 
passing  up  the  hill,  meditating  upon  the  sad  vicissitudes  and 
mutations  of  life,  when  suddenly  out  bounded  a  big  hog  from 
a  fence-corner,  with  aboo  !  aboo  !  and  I  came  to  the  ground 


ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS.  231 

with  my  saddle-bags  by  my  side.  As  I  lay  in  the  dust  of  the 
road  my  old  gray  mare  run  up  the  hill,  and  as  she  turned  the 
top  she  waved  her  tail  back  at  me,  seemingly  to  say — fare 
ye  well^  brother  Watkins — ah  I  I  tell  you,  my  brethering, 
it  is  aflecti ng  times  to  part  with  a  congregation  you  have 
been  with  for  over  thirty  years  —  ah  !  " 

John  B.  Gough. 


THE  DESERTED   VILLAGE, 

Sweet  Auburn  !  loveliest  village  of  the  plain, 
Where  health  and  plenty  cheered  the  laboring  swain ; 
Where  smiling  spring  its  earliest  visit  paid, 
And  parting  summer's  lingering  blooms  delayed : 
Dear,  lovely  bowers  of  innocence  and  ease, — 
Seats  of  my  youth,  when  every  sport  could  please, 
How  often  have  I  loitered  o*er  thy  green, 
Where  humble  happiness  endeared  each  scene  ! 
How  often  have  I  paused  on  every  charm,  — 
The  sheltered  cot,  the  cultivated  flirm. 
The  never-failing  brook,  the  busy  mill, 
The  decent  church  that  topped  the  neighboring  hill, 
The  hawthorn  bush,  with  seats  beneath  the  shade, 
For  talking  age,  and  whispering  lovers,  made  ! 

How  often  have  I  blessed  the  coming  day, 
When  toil  remitting  lent  its  turn  to  play, 
And  all  the  village  train,  from  labor  free, 
Led  la^  their  sports  beneath  the  spreading  tree ; 
While  many  a  pastime  circled  in  tlie  shade, — 
The  young  contending,  as  the  old  surveyed  ; 
And  many  a  gambol  frolicked  o'er  the  ground  ; 
And  sleights  of  art  and  feats  of  strength  went  round ! 

Sweet,  smiling  village,  loveliest  of  the  lawn  ! 
Thy  sports  are  fled,  and  all  thy  charms  withdrawn : 
Amid  thy  bowers,  the  tyrant's  hand  is  seen  ; 
And  desolation  saddens  all  thy  green  ; 


232  ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS. 

No  more  thy  glassy  brook  reflects  the  clay ; 
But,  choked  with  sedges,  works  its  weedy  way : 
Along  thy  glades,  a  solitary  guest, 
The  hollow-sounding  bittern  guards  its  nest. 

Ill  fares  the  land,  to  hastening  ills  a  prey, 
Where  wealth  accumulates,  and  men  decay ; 
Princes  and  lords  may  flourish,  or  may  fade ; 
A  breath  can  make  them,  as  a  breath  has  made: 
But  a  bold  peasantry,  —  their  country's  pride, 
When  once  destroyed,  can  never  be  supplied. 

Sweet  Auburn  !  parent  of  the  blissful  hour ! 
Thy  glades  forlorn  confess  the  tyrant's  power. 
Here,  as  I  take  my  solitary  rounds, 
Amid  thy  tangling  walks  and  ruined  grounds, 
And,  many  a  year  elapsed,  return  to  view 
Where  once  the  cottage  stood,  the  hawthorn  grew. 
Remembrance  wakes  with  all  her  busy  train, 
Swells  at  my  breast,  and  turns  the  past  to  pain. 

In  all  my  wanderings  round  this  world  of  care, 
In  all  my  griefs  —  and  God  has  given  my  share  — 
I  still  had  hopes,  my  latest  hours  to  crown, 
Amid  these  humble  bowers  to  lay  me  down; 
To  husband  out  life's  taper  at  the  close. 
And  keep  the  flame  from  wasting  by  repose : 
I  still  had  hopes,  my  long  vexations  past, 
Here  to  return,  —  and  die  at  home,  at  last. 

O  blessed  retirement !  friend  to  life's  decline, 
Retreat  from  care,  that  never  must  be  mine  ! 
How  blessed  is  he  who  crowns,  in  shades  like  these, 
A  youth  of  labor  with  an  age  of  ease  ; 
Who  quits  a  world  where  strong  temptations  try. 
And,  since  'tis  hard  to  combat,  learns  to  fly  ! 
So  on  he  moves  to  meet  his  latter  end. 
Angels  around  befriending  virtue's  friend  ; 


ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS.  233 

Sinks  to  the  grave  with  unperceived  decay, 
While  resignation  gently  slopes  the  way  ; 
And,  all  his  prospects  brightening  to  the  last, 
His  heaven  commences  ere  the  w^orld  be  past.    ^ 

Goldsmith. 


UNION  AND  LIBERTY, 

Flag  of  the  heroes  who  left  us  their  glory, 

Borne  through  their  battlefields'  thunder  and  iiame, 
Blazoned  in  song  and  illumined  in  story, 
Wave  o'er  us  all  who  inherit  their  fame  ! 

Up  with  our  banner  bright, 

Sprinkled  with  starry  light, 
Spread  its  fair  emblems  from  mountain  to  shore, 

While  through  the  sounding  sky 

Loud  rings  the  Nation's  cry  — 
Union  and  Liberty !     One  evermore ! 

Light  of  our  firmament,  guide  of  our  Nation, 
Pride  of  her  children,  and  honored  afar. 

Let  the  wide  beams  of  thy  full  constellation 
Scatter  each  cloud  that  would  darken  a  star! 

Empire  unsceptred !  what  foe  shall  assail  thee, 

Bearing  the  standard  of  Liberty's  van? 
Think  not  the  God  of  thy  fathers  shall  fail  thee. 

Striving  with  men  for  the  birthright  of  man  I 

Yet  if,  by  madness  and  treachery  blighted. 

Dawns   the   dark   hour   when   the   sword   thou  must 
draw, 

Then  with  the  arms  to  thy  millions  united. 
Smite  the  bold  traitors  to  Freedom  and  Law! 


234  ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS. 

Lord  of  the  Universe !  shield  us  and  guide  us, 

Trusting  Thee  always,  through  shadow  and  sun! 
Thou  liast  united  us,  who  shall  divide  us? 
Keep  us,  O  keep  us  the  many  in  one! 
Up  with  our  banner  bright, 
Sprinkled  with  starry  light, 
Spread  its  fair  emblems  from  mountain  to  shore, 
While  through  the  sounding  sky 
Loud  rings  the  Nation's  cry  — 
Union  and  Liberty!     One  evermore! 

O.  W.  Holmes. 


TOUSSAINT  LOUVERTURE* 

If  I  were  to  tell  you  the  story  of  Napoleon,  I  should  take 
it  from  the  lips  of  Frenchmen,  who  find  no  language  rich 
enough  to  paint  the  great  captain  of  the  nineteenth  century. 
Were  I  to  tell  you  the  story  of  Washington,  I  should  take  it 
from  your  hearts,  —  you,  who  think  no  marble  white  enough 
on  which  to  carve  the  name  of  the  Father  of  liis  country'. 
But  I  am  to  tell  you  the  story  of  a  negro,  Toussaint  L'Ouver- 
tc^re,  who  has  left  hardly  one  written  line.  I  am  to  glean  it 
from  the  reluctant  testimony  of  his  enemies,  men  who 
despised  him  because  he  was  a  negro  and  a  slave,  hated  him 
because  he  had  beaten  them  in  battle. 

*  Toussaint  L'Ouverture,  who  has  been  pronounced  one  of  tlie 
greatest  statesmen  and  generals  of  the  nineteenth  century,  saved 
his  master  and  family  hy  hurrying  them  on  board  a  vessel  at  the 
insurrection  of  the  negroes  of  Hayti.  He  then  joined  the  ne*i^i() 
army,  and  soon  found  himself  at  their  head.  Napoleon  sent  a  fleet 
with  Frencli  veterans,  with  orders  to  bring  him  to  France  at  all  haz- 
ards. But  all  the  skill  of  the  French  soldiers  could  not  subdue  tlie 
negro  army;  and  they  finally  made  a  treaty,  placing  Toussaint 
L'Ouverture  governor  of  the  island.  The  negroes  no  sooner  dis- 
banded their  army,  than  a  squad  of  soldiers  seized  Toussaint  by 
night,  and  taking  him  on  board  a  vessel,  hurried  him  to  France. 
There  he  was  placed  in  a  dungeon,  and  finally  starved  to  death. 


ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS.  235 

Cromwell  maiiufactLirecl  his  own  army.  Napoleon,  at  the 
age  of  twenty-seven,  was  placed  at  the  head  of  the  best 
troops  Europe  ever  saw.  Cromwell  never  saw  an  army  till 
he  was  forty  ;  this  man  never  saw  a  soldier  till  he  was  fifty. 
Cromwell  manufactured  his  own  army  —  out  of  what.^ 
Englishmen,  —  the  best  blood  in  Europe.  Out  of  the  mid- 
dle class  of  Englishmen, — the  best  blood  of  the  island. 
And  with  it  he  conquered  what?  Englishmen, —  their  equals. 
This  man  manufactured  his  army  out  of  what?  Out  of  what 
\ou  call  the  despicable  race  of  negroes,  debased,  demoralized 
by  two  hundied  }ears  of  slavery,  one  hundred  thousand  of 
them  imported  ii.to  the  island  within  fom*  years,  unable  to 
speak  a  dialect  intelligible  even  to  each  other.  Yet  out  of 
this  mixed,  and,  as  you  say,  despicable  mass  he  forged  a 
thunderbolt,  and  hurled  it  at  what.^  At  the  proudest  blood 
in  Europe,  the  Spaniard,  and  sent  him  home  conquered  ;  at 
the  Jiiost  warlike  blood  in  Europe,  the  French,  and  put  them 
under  his  feet;  at  the  pluckiest  blood  in  Europe,  the  Eng- 
lish, and  they  skulked  home  to  Jamaica.  Now,  if  Cronnveli 
was  a  general,  at  least  this  man  was  a  soldier. 

Now,  blue-eyed  Saxon,  proud  of  your  race,  go  back  with 
me  to  the  commencement  of  the  century,  and  select  what 
statesman  you  please.  Let  him  be  either  American  or  Euro- 
pean ;  let  him  have  a  brain  the  result  of  six  generations  of 
culture  ;  let  him  have  the  ripest  training  of  universitv  rou- 
tine ;  let  him  add  to  it  the  better  education  of  practical  life  ; 
crown  his  temples  with  the  silver  locks  of  seventy  years,  and 
show  me  the  man  of  Saxon  lineage  for  whom  his  most  san- 
<^uine  admirer  will  wreathe  a  laurel,  rich  as  embittered  foes 
have  placed  on  the  l)iow  of  this  negro,  — rare  militarv  skill, 
profound  knowledge  ot  human  nature,  content  to  blot  out 
all  party  distinctions,  and  trust  a  state  to  the  blood  of  its 
sons,  —  anticipating  Sir  Robert  Peel  fifty  years,  and  taking 
his  station  by  the  side  of  Roger  Williams,  before  any  Eng- 
lishman or  American  had  won  the  right ;  and  yet  this  is  the 
record  which  the  history  of  rival  States  makes  ud  for  this 
inspired  black  of  St.  Domingo. 


236  ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS. 

Some  doubt  the  courage  of  the  negro.  Go  to  Hayti,  and 
stand  on  those  fifty  thousand  graves  of  the  best  soldiers 
France  ever  had,  and  ask  them  v^hat  they  think  of  the 
negro's  sword. 

I  would  call  him  Napoleon,  but  Napoleon  made  his  wa^ 
to  empire  over  broken  oaths  and  through  a  sea  of  blood. 
This  man  never  broke  his  word.  I  would  call  him  Crom- 
well, but  Cromwell  was  only  a  soldier,  and  the  state  he 
founded  went  down  with  him  into  his  grave.  I  would  call 
him  Washington,  but  the  great  Virginian  held  slaves.  This 
man  risked  his  empire  rather  than  permit  the  slave-trade  in 
the  humblest  village  of  his  dominions. 

You  think  me  a  fanatic,  for  you  read  history,  not  with 
your  eyes  but  with  your  prejudices.  But  fifty  years  hence, 
when  Truth  gets  a  hearing,  the  Muse  ol  history  will  put 
Phocion  for  the  Greek,  Brutus  for  the  Roman,  llaniptlen  fur 
England,  Fayette  for  France,  choose  Washington  as  the 
bright  consummate  flower  of  our  earlier  civilization,  tlien, 
dipping  her  pen  in  the  sunlight,  will  write  in  the  clear  bhic, 
above  them  all,  the  name  of  the  soldier,  tlie  statesman,  tlie 
martyr,  Toussaint  L'Ouverture.         wendell  PniLLirs. 


SCENE  FROM  HAMLET, 

\_Tke  Platform,'] 
Enter  Hamlet,  Horatio,  and  Marcellus. 
Ham,     The  air  bites  shrewdly  ;   it  is  very  cold. 
Hor,     It  is  a  nipping  and  an  eager  air. 
Ham.     What  hour  now? 
Hor,     I  think  it  lacks  of  twelve. 
Mar.  No,  it  is  struck. 

Hor.     Indeed?     I  heard  it  not;    it  then  draws  near  the 
season 
Wherein  the  spirit  held  his  wont  to  w^alk. 

{A  Jlourh/i  of  triiinpcts.,  and  ordnance  shot  off  within.^ 
What  does  this  mean,  my  lord? 


ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS.  2a7 

Ham,     The  king  doth  wake  to-night,  and  takes  his  rouse, 
Keeps  wassel,  and  the  swaggering  up-spring  reels; 
And,  as  he  drains  his  draughts  of  Rhenish  down. 
The  kettle-drum  and  trumpet  thus  bray  out 
The  triumph  of  his  pledge. 

Hor.     Is  it  a  custom? 

Ham,  Ay,  marry  is't : 

But  to  my  irjind,  —  though  I  am  native  here 
And  to  the  manner  born,  —  it  is  a  custom 
More  honor'd  in  the  breach  than  the  observance. 
This  heavy-headed  revel    east  and  west, 
Make  us  traduced,  and  taxed  of  other  nations: 
They  clepe  us  drunkards,  and  with  swinish  phrase 
Soil  our  addition  ;  and,  indeed  it  takes 
From  our  achievements,  though  performed  at  height, 
The  pith  and  marrow  of  our  attribute. 
So,  oft  it  chances  in  particular  men, 
i'hat,  for  some  vicious  mole  of  nature  in  them, 
As  in  their  birth,  (wherein  they  are  not  guilty, 
Since  nature  cannot  choose  his  origin,) 
By  the  overgrowth  of  some  complexion. 
Oft  breaking  down  the  pales  and  forts  of  reason ; 
Or  by  some  habit  that  too  much  o'er-leavens 
The  form  of  plausive  manners  ;  —  that  these  men, 
Ciu  lying,  I  say,  the  stamp  of  one  defect; 
Being  nature's  livery,  or  fortune's  star,  — 
Their  virtues  else  (be  they  as  pure  as  grace, 
As  infinite  as  man  may  undergo,) 
Shall  in  the  general  censure  take  corruption 
From  that  particular  fault :  the  dram  of  base 
Doth  all  the  noble  substance  often  doubt, 
To  his  own  scandal. 

Enter  Ghost. 

Hor,  Look,  my  lord,  it  comes  ! 

Ham.     Angels  and  ministers  of  grace  defend  us!  — 
Be  thou  a  spirit  of  health  or  goblin  damn'd  ; 
Bring  with  thee  airs  from  heaven,  or  blasts  from  hell, 


238  ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS. 

Be  thy  intents  wicked,  or  charitable, 
Thou  comest  in  such  a  questionable  shape. 
That  I  will  speak  to  thee  ;  I'll  call  thee,  Hamlet, 
King,  father:  royal  Dane,  Oh,  answer  me  ! 
Let  me  not  burst  in  ignorance  ;  but  tell. 
Why  thy  canonized  bones,  hearsed  in  death. 
Have  burst  their  cerements  ;  why  the  sepulchre, 
Wherein  we  saw  thee  quietly  in-urn'd, 
Hath  ope'd  his  ponderous  and  marble  jaws. 
To  cast  thee  up  again.      What  may  this  mean, 
That  thou,  dead  corse,  again  in  complete  steel 
Revisit'st  thus  the  glimpses  of  the  moon, 
Making  night  hideous;  and  we  fools  of  nature 
So  horridly  to  shake  our  disposition. 
With  thoughts  beyond  the  reaches  of  our  souls? 
Say,  why  is  this?  wherefore?  what  should  we  do? 
Ho7\     It  beckons  you  to  go  away  with  it, 

As  if  it  some  impartment  did  desire 
To  you  alone. 

Mar.  Look,  with  what  courteous  action 

It  waves  you  to  a  more  removed  ground : 
But  do  not  go  with  it. 

Hor.  No,  by  no  means. 

Ham,     It  will  not  speak  ;  then  I  will  follow  it. 

Hor.     Do  not,  my  lord. 

Ham.  Why,  what  would  be  the  fear? 

I  do  not  set  my  life  at  a  pin's  fee  ; 

And  for  my  soul,  what  can  it  do  to  that, 

Being  a  thing  immortal  as  itself? 

It  waves  me  forth  again  ;  —  I'll  follow  it. 

Hor.     What  if  it  tempt  you  toward  the  flood,  my  lord, 

Or  to  the  dreadful  summit  of  the  cliff, 

That  beetles  o'er  his  base  into  the  sea  ; 

And  there  assume  some  other  horrible  form, 

Which  might  deprive  your  sovereignty  of  reason, 

And  draw  you  into  madness?  think  of  it : 

The  very  place  puts  toys  of  desperation, 


ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS. 


239 


Without  more  motive,  into  every  brain 
That  looks  so  many  fathoms  to  the  sea, 
Aiul  hears  it  roar  beneath. 

Ham,  It  w^aves  me  still. 

Go  on,  I'll  follow  thee. 

Mar.     You  shall  not  go,  my  lord. 

Ham.  Hold  off  your  hands  ! 

Hor.     Be  ruled,  you  shall  not  go. 

Ham.  My  fate  cries  out, 

And  makes  each  petty  artery  in  this  body 
As  hardy  as  the  Nemean  lion's  nerve.  —    (Ghost  beckons.) 
Still  am  I  caird.  —  Unhand  me,  gentlemen  ;  — 

(^Breaking'  fr 0711  them.) 
Bv  lieaven,  I'll  make  a  ghost  of  him  that  lets  me  !  — 


I  sa 


•  Go  on,  ril  follow  thee. 

\_Bxetint  Ghost  and  Hamlet.] 
He  waxes  desperate  with  imagination. 
Let's  follow  ;  'tis  not  fit  thus  to  obey  him. 
Have  after.  —  To  what  issue  will  this  come? 
Something  is  rotten  in  the  state  of  Denmark. 
Heaven  will  direct  it. 

Nay,  let's  follow  him.     {^Exeunt.'] 
\_A  more  remote  part  of  the  Plat/orin.'] 

Re-enter  Ghost  and  Hamlet. 
Whither  will    thou   lead    me?   speak,  I'll  go   no 

Hirther. 
Mark  me. 

I  will. 

My  hour  is  almost  come, 
When  I  to  sulphurous  and  tormenting  flames 
[Iviusl  render  up  myself. 

Ham.  Alas,  poor  ghost ! 

Ghost.     Pity  me  not,  but  lend  thy  serious  hearing 
?To  what  I  shall  unfold. 

J  lam.     Speak,  I  am  bound  to  hear. 

Ghost.     So  art  thou  to  revenge,  when  thou  shalt  hear. 


y,  away 


Hor. 
Mar. 
Hor. 
Mar. 
Hor. 
Mar. 


Ham. 

Ghost. 

Ham. 

Ghost. 


2  ;0  ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS. 

Ham.     What? 

Ghost.  I  am  thy  father's  spirit ; 

Dooni'd  for  a  certain  term  to  walk  the  night, 
And,  for  the  day,  confined  to  fast  in  fires, 
Till  the  foul  crimes,  done  in  my  days  of  nature, 
Are  burnt  and  purged  away.     But  that  I  am  forbid 
To  tell  the  secrets  of  my  prison-house, 
I  could  a  tale  unfold,  whose  lightest  word 
Would  harrow  up  thy  soul ;  freeze  thy  young  blood  ; 
Make  thy  two  eyes,  like  stars,  start  from  their  spheres ; 
Thy  knotted  and  combined  locks  to  part. 
And  each  particular  hair  to  stand  an-end. 
Like  quills  upon  the  fretful  porcupine : 
But  this  eternal  blazon  must  not  be 
To  ears  of  flesh  and  blood.  —  List,  list,  O  list !  — 
If  thou  didst  ever  thy  dear  father  love, — 

Ham,     O  heaven  ! 

Ghost,     Revenge  his  foul  and  most  unnatural  murder. 

Hatn.     Murder? 

Ghost.     Murder  most  foul,  as  in  the  best  it  is ; 
But  this  most  foul,  strange,  and  unnatural. 

Ham.     Haste  me  to  know  it ;  that  I,  with  wings  as  swift 
As  meditation,  or  the  thoughts  of  love. 
May  sweep  to  my  revenge. 

Ghost.  I  find  thee  apt : 

And  duller  shouldst  thou  be  than  the  fat  weed 
That  roots  itself  in  ease  on  Lethe  wharf, 
Wouldst  thou  not  stir  in  this.     Now,  Hamlet,  hear: 
'Tis  given  out,  that,  sleeping  in  mine  orchard 
A  serpent  stung  me  ;  so  the  whole  ear  of  Denmark 
Is  by  a  forged  process  of  my  death 
Rankly  abused  ;  but  know,  thou  noble  youth. 
The  serpent,  that  did  sting  thy  father's  life. 
Now  wears  his  crown. 

Hain.     Oh,  my  prophetic  soul !   my  uncle  ! 

Ghost.     Ay,  that  incestuous,  that  adulterous  beast. 
With  witchcraft  of  his  wit,  with  traitorous  gifts. 


ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS.  241 

(O  wicked  wit  and  gifts,  that  have  the  power 

So  to  seduce  !)  won  to  his  shamefid  lust 

The  will  of  my  most  seeming-virtuous  queen ; 

0  Hamlet,  what  a  falling  oft' was  there  ! 
From  me,  whose  love  was  of  that  dignity. 
That  it  went  hand  in  hand  even  with  the  vow 

1  made  to  her  in  marriage  ;   and  to  decline 
Upon  a  wretch,  whose  natural  gifts  were  poor 
To  those  of  mine  ! 

But  virtue,  as  it  never  will  be  moved. 

Though  lewdness  court  it  in  a  shape  of  heaven ; 

So  lust,  though  to  a  radiant  angel  link'd, 

Will  sate  itself  in  a  celestial  bed. 

And  prey  on  garbage. 

But,  soft !  methinks  I  scent  the  morning  air ; 

Brief  let  me  be.  —  Sleeping  within  mine  orchard, 

My  custom  always  of  the  afternoon. 

Upon  my  secure  hour  thy  uncle  stole 

With  juice  of  cursed  hebenon  in  a  vial, 

And  in  the  porches  of  mine  ears  did  pour 

The  leperous  distilment ;  whose  effect 

Holds  sure  an  enmity  with  blood  of  man, 

That,  swift  as  quicksilver,  it  courses  through 

The  natural  gates  and  alleys  of  the  body ; 

And  with  a  sudden  vigor  it  doth  posset  — 

And  curd,  like  eager  droppings  into  milk. 

The  thin  and  wholesome  blood  ;  so  did  it  mine ; 

And  a  most  instant  tetter  bark'd  about, 

Most  lazar-like,  with  vile  and  loathsome  crust, 

All  my  smooth  body. 

Thus  was  I,  sleeping,  by  a  brother's  hand, 

Of  life,  of  crown,  of  queen,  at  once  despatched: 

Cut  oft"  even  in  the  blossoms  of  my  sin, 

Unhousel'd,  disappointed,  unanneaFd  ; 

No  reckoning  made,  but  sent  to  my  account. 

With  all  my  imperfections  on  my  head. 

Ham,     O  horrible  !    O  horrible  !    most  horrible  ! 
i6 


242  ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS. 

Ghost,     If  thou  hast  nature  in  thee,  bear  it  not; 
Let  not  the  royal  bed  of  Denmark  be 
A  couch  for  luxury  and  damned  incest. 
But,  howsoever  thou  pursuest  this  act, 
Taint  not  thy  mind,  nor  let  thy  soul  contrive 
Against  thy  mother  aught ;  leave  her  to  Heaven, 
And  to  those  thorns  that  in  her  bosom  lodge, 
To  prick  and  sting  her.     Fare  thee  well  at  once ! 
The  glow-worm  shows  the  matin  to  be  near, 
And  'gins  to  pale  his  unaftectual  fire  ; 
Adieu,  adieu,  adieu  !  remember  me.  \^Exlt. 

Ham,     O  all  you  host  of  heaven  !     O  earth  !     What  else  ? 
And  shall  I  couple  hell?  —  O  fy  !  —  Hold,  hold,  my  heart; 
And  you,  my  sinews,  grow  not  instant  old, 
But  bear  me  stiffly  up  !  —  Remember  thee? 
Ay,  thou  poor  ghost,  while  memory  holds  a  seat 
In  this  distracted  globe.     Remember  thee? 
Yea,  from  the  table  of  my  memory 
rU  wipe  away  all  trivial  fond  records. 
All  saws  of  books,  all  forms,  all  pressures  past, 
That  youth  and  observation  copied  there ; 
And  thy  commandment  all  alone  shall  live 
Within  the  book  and  volume  of  my  brain, 
Unmix'd  with  baser  matter  :  yes,  by  heaven  ; 
O  most  pernicious  woman  ! 

0  villain,  villain,  smiling,  damned  villain ! 
IMy  tables,  —  meet  it  is,  I  set  it  down. 

That  one  may  smile,  and  smile,  and  be  a  villain ; 

At  least,  I  am  sure,  it  may  be  so  in  Denmark.       (  Writing.) 

So,  uncle,  there  you  ai-e.     Now,  to  my  word  ; 

It  is,  'Adieu,  adieu  !'  remember  me. 

1  have  sworn  't.  Shakespeare. 


ADVANCED    READINGS   AND    RECITATIONS.  243 


BUGLE  SONG, 

The  splendor  falls  on  castle  walls 

And  snowy  summits  old  in  story  ; 
The  long  light  shakes  across  the  lakes, 
And  the  wild  cataract  leaps  in  glory. 
Blow,  bugle,  blow,  set  the  wild  echoes  flying: 
Blow,  bugle  ;  answer,  echoes,  dying,  dying,  dying. 

O  hark,  O  hear !  how  thin  and  clear. 
And  thinner,  clearer,  further  going ; 
O  sweet  and  far,  from  clift^and  scar, 
The  horns  of  Elfland  faintly  blowing! 
Blow,  let  us  hear  the  purple  glens  replying : 
Blow,  bugle  ;  answer,  echoes,  dying,  dying,  dying. 

O  love,  they  die  in  yon  rich  sky, 

They  faint  on  hill  or  field  or  river : 
Our  echoes  roll  from  soul  to  soul. 
And  grow  forever  and  forever. 
Blow,  bugle,  blow,  set  the  wild  echoes  flying, 
And  answer  echoes,  answer,  dying,  dying,  dying. 

Tennyson. 


CHARGE  OF  THE  LIGHT  BRIGADE. 

Half  a  league,  half  a  league. 

Half  a  league  onward. 
All  in  the  valley  of  death 

Rode  the  six  hundred. 
"  Forward,  the  Light  Brigade ! 
Charge  for  the  guns  !  "  he  said. 
Into  the  valley  of  Death, 

Rode  the  six  hundred. 


244  ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS. 

"  Forward,  the  Light  Brigade  !  " 
Was  there  a  man  dismayed? 
Not  though  the  soldiers  knew 

Some  one  had  bhmdered  : 
Theirs  not  to  make  reply, 
Theirs  not  to  reason  why, 
Theirs  but  to  do  and  die : 
Into  the  valley  of  death, 

Rode  the  six  hundred. 

Cannon  to  right  of  them, 
Cannon  to  left  of  them, 
Cannon  in  front  of  them. 

Volleyed  and  thundered  : 
Stormed  at  with  shot  and  shell, 
Boldly  they  rode  and  well : 
Into  the  jaws  of  Death, 
Into  the  mouth  of  Hell, 

Rode  the  six  hundred. 

Flashed  all  their  sabres  bare. 
Flashed  as  they  turned  in  air, 
Sab'ring  the  gunners  there, 
Charging  an  army,  while 

All  the  world  wondered  : 
Plunged  in  the  battery  smoke. 
Right  through  the  line  they  broke? 
Cossack  and  Russian 
Reeled  from  the  sabre-stroke. 

Shattered  and  sundered. 
Then  they  rode  back  —  but  not, 

Not  the  six  hundred. 

Cannon  to  right  of  them. 
Cannon  to  left  of  them, 
Cannon  behind  them, 

Volleyed  and  thundered : 
Stormed  at  with  shot  and  shell. 
While  horse  and  hero  fell, 


ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS.  245 

They  that  had  fought  so  well, 
Came  through  the  jaws  of  Death, 
Back  from  the  mouth  of  Hell, 
All  that  was  left  of  them, 
Left  of  six  hundred. 

When  can  their  glory  fade  ? 

Oh,  the  wild  charge  they  made ! 

All  the  world  wondered. 

Honor  the  charge  they  made ! 

Honor  the  Light  Brigade, 

Noble  six  hundred  ! 

Tennyson. 


DEDICATION  OF  GETTYSBURG  CEMETERY. 

Fourscore  and  seven  years  ago,  our  fathers  brought  forth 
upon  this  continent  a  new  nation,  conceived  in  liberty  and 
dedicated  to  the  proposition  that  all  men  are  created  equal. 
Now  we  are  engaged  in  a  great  civil  war,  testing  whether 
that  nation  — or  any  nation  so  conceived  and  so  dedicated  — 
can  long  endure. 

We  are  met  on  a  great  battle-field  of  that  war.  We  are 
met  to  dedicate  a  portion  of  it  as  the  final  resting-place  of 
those  who  have  given  their  lives  that  that  nation  might  live. 
It  is  altogether  fitting  and  proper  that  we  should  do  this. 

But,  in  a  larger  sense,  we  cannot  dedicate,  we  cannot  con- 
secrate, we  cannot  hallow,  this  ground.  The  brave  men, 
living  and  dead,  who  struggled  here,  have  consecrated  it,  far 
above  our  power  to  add  or  to  detract.  The  world  will  very 
little  note  nor  long  remember  what  we  say  here  ;  but  it  can 
never  forget  what  they  did  here. 

kit  is  for  us,  the  living,,  rather,  to  be  dedicated  here,  to  the 
finished  work  they  have  thus  fiir  so  nobly  carried  on.  It 
■■—•""" 


246  ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS. 

ing  before  us  ;  that  from  these  honored  dead  we  take  in- 
creased devotion  to  that  cause  for  which  they  here  gave  the 
last  full  measure  of  devotion  ;  that  we  here  highly  resolve 
that  these  dead  shall  not  have  died  in  vain  ;  that  the  nation 
shall,  under  God,  have  a  new  birth  of  freedom,  and  that  gov- 
ernment of  the  people,  by  the  people,  for  the  people,  shall 
not  perish  from  the  earth.  -/-^  Abraham  Lincoln. 


APOSTROPHE  TO  THE  OCEAN. 

There  is  a  pleasure  in  the  pathless  woods, 

There  is  a  rapture  on  the  lonely  shore, 
There  is  society,  where  none  intrudes, 

By  the  deep  sea,  and  music  in  its  roar. 

I  love  not  man  the  less  but  Nature  more. 
From  these  our  interviews,  in  which  I  steal 

From  all  I  may  be,  or  have  been  before. 
To  mingle  with  the  universe,  and  feel 
What  I  can  n-e'er  express,  yet  cannot  all  conceal. 

Roll  on,  thou  deep  and  dark  blue  Ocean  —  roll! 

Ten  thousand  flepts  sweep  over  thee  in  vain ; 
Man  marks  the  earth  with  ruin  —  his  control 

Stops  with  the  shore  ;  —  upon  the  watery  plain 

The  wrecks  are  all  thy  deed,  nor  doth  remain 
A  shadow  of  man's  ravage,  save  his  own. 

When  for  a  moment,  like  a  drop  of  rain. 
He  sinks  into  thy  depths  with  bubbling  groan, 
Without  a  grave,  unknelled,  uncoffined,  and  unknown. 

The  armaments  which  thunderstrike  the  walls 
Of  rock-built  cities,  bidding  nations  quake. 

And  monarchs  tremble  in  their  capitals ; 
The  oak  leviathans,  whose  huge  ribs  make 
Their  clay  creator  the  vain  title  take 


ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS.  247 

Of  lord  of  thee,  and  arbiter  of  war,  — 

These  are  thy  toys,  and,  as  the 'snowy  flake, 

They  melt  into  thy  yeast  of  waves,  which  mar 

Alike  the  Armada's  pride,  or  spoils  of  Trafalgar. 

Thy  shores  are  empires,  changed  in  all  save  thee  — 
Assyria,  Greece,  Rome,  Carthage,  —  what  are  they? 

Thy  waters  washed  them  power  when  they  were  free 
And  many  a  tyrant  since  ;  their  shores  obey 
The  stranger,  slave,  or  savage  ;  their  decay 

Has  dried  up  realms  to  deserts  :  —  not  so  thou, 
Unchangeable,  save  to  thy  wild  waves'  play  — 

Time  writes  no  wrinkle  on  thine  azure  brow  — 
Such  as  creation's  dawn  beheld,  thou  rollest  now. 

Thou  glorious  mirror,  where  the  Almighty's  form 

Glasses  itself  in  tempests;  in  all  time. 
Calm  or  convulsed  —  in  breeze  or  gale  or  storm, 

Icing  the  pole,  or  in  the  torrid  clime 

Dark  heaving;  —  boundless,  endless,  and  sublime  — 
The  image  of  Eternity  —  the  throne 

Of  the  Invisible  ;  even  from  out  thy  slime 
The  monsters  of  the  deep  are  made ;  each  zone 
Obeys  thee :  thou  goest  forth,  dread,  fathomless,  alone. 

And  I  have  loved  thee.  Ocean  !  and  my  joy 
Of  youthful  sports  was  on  thy  breast  to  be 

Borne,  like  thy  bubbles,  onward  :  from  a  boy 
I  wantoned  with  thy  breakers  —  they  to  me 
Were  a  delight ;  and  if  the  freshening  sea 

Made  them  a  terror,  'twas  a  pleasing  fear ; 
For  I  was,  as  it  were,  a  child  of  thee, 

And  trusted  to  thy  billows  far  and  near, 
And  laid  my  hand  upon  thy  mane  —  as  I  do  here. 

Byron. 


L 


248  ADVANCED    READINGS   AND    RECITATIONS. 


JIMMY  BUTLER  AND   THE  OWL. 

'TwAS  in  the  summer  of  '46  that  I  landed  at  Hamilton 
fresh  as  a  new  pratie  just  dug  from  the  "  ould  sod,"  and  vvid 
a  light  heart  and  a  heavy  bundle  I  sot  off  for  the  township 
of  Buford,  tiding  a  taste  of  a  song,  as  merry  a  young  fellow 
as  iver  took  the  road.  Well,  I  trudged  on  an'  on,  past  maiiy 
a  plisint  place,  pleasin'  myself  wid  the  thought  that  some 
day  I  might  have  a  place  of  my  own,  wid  a  world  of  chick- 
ens and  ducks  and  pigs  and  childer  about  the  door ;  and 
along  in  the  afternoon  of  the  sicond  day  I  got  to  Buford  vil- 
lage. A  cousin  of  me  mother's,  one  Dennis  O'Dowd,  lived 
about  sivin  miles  from  there,  and  I  wanted  to  make  his  place 
that  night,  so  I  inquired  the  way  at  the  tavern,  and  was  lucky 
to  find  a  man  who  was  goin*  part  of  the  way  an'  would  show 
me  the  way  to  find  Dennis.  Sure  he  was  very  kind  indade, 
an'  when  I  got  out  of  his  wagon  he  pointed  me  through  the 
wood  and  tould  me  to  go  straight  south  a  mile  an'  a  half,  and 
the  first  house  would  be  Dennis's. 

"  An'  you've  no  time  to  lose  now,"  said  he,  "  for  the  sun  is 
low,  and  mind  you  don't  get  lost  in  the  woods." 

''  Is  it  lost  now,"  said  I,  "  that  I'd  be  gittin,  an'  me  uncle 
as  great  a  navigator  as  ivir  steered  a  ship  across  the  thrack- 
less  say  !  Not  a  bit  of  it,  though  Fm  obleeged  to  ye  for  your 
kind  advice,  and  thank  yiz  for  the  ride."    ~" 

An'  wid  that  he  drove  off  an'  left  me  alone.  I  shouldered 
me  bundle  bravely,  an'  whistlin'  a  bit  of  time  for  company 
like,  I  pushed  into  the  bush.  Well,  I  went  a  long  way  over 
l:>ogs,  and  turnin'  round  among  the  bush  an'  trees  till  I  began 
to  think  I  must  be  w^ell  nigh  to  Dennis's.  But,  bad  cess  to 
it !  all  of  a  sudden  I  came  out  of  the  woods  at  the  very  iden- 
tical spot  where  I  started  in,  which  I  knew  by  an  ould 
crotched  tree  that  seemed  to  be  standin'  on  its  head  and 
kickin'  up  its  heels  to  make  divarsion  of  me.  By  this  time 
it  was  growin*  dark,   and  as  there  was  no  time  to  lose,  I 


ADVANCED  READINGS  AND  RECITATIONS     249 

started  in  a  sicond  time,  determined  to  keep  straight  south 
this  time,  and  no  mistake.  I  got  on  bravely  for  a  while,  hut 
och  hone  !  och  hone  !  it  got  so  dark  I  couldn't  see  the  trees, 
and  I  bumped  me  nose  and  barked  me  shins,  while  the  mis- 
katies  bit  me  hands  and  face  to  a  blister ;  and  after  tumblin' 
and  stumblin*  around  till  I  was  fairly  bamfoozled,  I  sat  down 
on  a  log,  all  of  a  trimble,  to  think  that  I  was  lost  intirely, 
an'  that  maybe  a  lion  or  some  other  wild  craythur  would  de- 
vour me  before  morning. 

Just  then  I  heard  somebody  a  long  way  off  say,  "  Whip 
poor  Will !  "  "  Bedad,"  sez  I,  "  Fm  glad  it  isn't  Jamie  that's 
got  to  take  it,  though  it  seems  it's  more  in  sorrow  than  in 
anger  they  are  doin'  it,  or  why  should  they  say,  '  poor  Will  ? ' 
an  sure  they  can't  be  Injin,  haythin,  or  naygur,  for  its  plain 
English  they're  afther  spakin'.  Maybe  they  might  help  me 
out  o'  this,"  so  I  shouted  at  the  top  of  my  voice,  ''A  lost 
man  !  "     Thin  I  listened.     Prisently  an  answer  came. 

''Who?  Whoo?  Whooo?" 

"Jamie  Butler,  the  waiver  !  "  sez  I,  as  loud  as  I  could  roar, 
an'  snatchin'  up  me  bundle  an'  stick,  I  started  in  the  direc- 
tion of  the  voice.  Whin  I  thought  I  had  got  near  the  place 
I  stopped  and  shouted  again,  "  A  lost  man  !  " 

"  Who !  Whoo !  Whooo  !  "  said  a  voice  right  over  my 
head, 

"  Sure,"  thinks  I,  "  it's  a  mighty  quare  place  for  a  man  to 
he  at  this  time  of  night ;  maybe  it's  some  settler  scrapin' 
sugar  off  a  sugar-bush  for  the  children's  breakfast  in  the 
mornin'.  But  where's  Will  and  the  rest  of  them  }  "  All  this 
wint  through  me  head  like  a  flash,  an'  thin  I  answered  his 
inquiry. 

"Jamie  Butler,  the  waiver,"  sez  I;  "and  if  it  wouldn't 
inconvanience  yer  honor,  would  yez  be  kind  enough  to 
step  down  and  show  me  the  way  to  the  house  of  Dennis 
O'Dowd?" 

"  Who  !  Whoo  !  Whooo  !  "  says  he. 

"  Dennis  O'Dowd,"  sez  I,  civil  enough,  "  and  a  dacent  man 
he  is,  and  first  cousin  to  me  own  mother." 


250  ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS. 

*'  Who  I  VVboo  !   Whooo  "  sez  he  again. 

"  Me  mother  !  "  sez  I,  "  and  as  fine  a  woman  as  iver  peeled 
a  biled  pratie  wid  her  thumb  nail,  and  her  maiden  name  was 
Molly  McFiggin." 

"Who!   Whoo!  Whooo!" 

"Paddy  McFiggin  !  bad  luck  to  yer  deaf  ould  head,  Paddy 
McFiggin,  I  say  —  do  ye  hear  that?  An'  he  was  the  tallest 
man  in  all  the  county  Tipperary,  excipt  Jim  Doyle,  the 
blacksmith." 

"Who!   Whoo!  Whooo!" 

"Jim  Doyle  the  blacksmith,"  sez  I,  "  ye  good  for  nothin' 
blaggard,  and  if  yiz  don't  come  down  and  show  me  the  w\ay 
this  min't,  TU  climb  up  there  and  break  every  bone  in  your 
skin,  so  sure  as  me  name  is  Jimmy  Butler  !  " 

"  Who  !   Whoo  !   Whooo  !  "  says  he,  as  impident  as  ivir. 

I  said  niver  a  word,  but  lavin  down  mc  bundle,  and  takin' 
me  stick  in  me  teeth,  I  began  to  climb  the  tree.  Whin  I  got 
among  the  branches  I  looked  quietly  around  till  I  saw  a  pair 
of  big  eyes  just  forninst  me. 

"Whist,"  sez  I,  "  and  I'll  let  him  have  a  taste  of  an  Irish 
stick,"  and  wid  that  I  let  drive  and  lost  me  balance  an'  came 
tumblin'  to  the  ground,  nearly  breakin'  me  neck  wid  the  fall. 
Whin  I  came  to  me  sinsis  I  had  a  very  sore  head  wid  a  lump 
on  it  like  a  goose  egg^  and  half  of  me  Sunday  coat-tail  torn 
oti*  intirely.  I  spoke  to  the  chap  in  the  tree,  but  could  git 
nivir  an  answer,  at  all,  at  all. 

Sure,  thinks  I,  he  must  have  gone  home  to  rowd  up  his 
head,  for  by  the  powers  I  didn't  throw  me  stick  for  nothin'. 

Well,  by  this  time  the  moon  was  up  and  I  could  see  a  lit- 
tle, and  I  detarmined  to  make  one  more  effort  to  reach 
Dennis's. 

I  wint  on  cautiously  for  a  while,  an'  thin  I  heard  a  bell. 
"  Sure,"  sez  I,  I'm  comin'  to  a  settlement  now,  for  I  hear 
the  church  bell."  I  kept  on  tow^ard  the  sound  till  I  came  to 
an  ould  cow  wid  a  bell  on.  She  started  to  run,  but  I  was  too 
quick  for  her,  and  got  her  by  the  tail,  and  hung  on,  thinkin' 
that  maybe  she  would  take  me  out  of  the  woods.     On  we 


ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS.  251 

wint,  like  an  ould  country  steeple-chase,  till,  sure  enough, 
we  came  out  to  a  clearin'  and  a  house  in  sight  wid  a  light  in 
it.  So,  leavin'  the  ould  cow  puffin'  and  blowin'  in  a  shed,  I 
went  to  the  house,  and  as  luck  would  have  it,  whose  should 
It  be  but  Dennis's. 

He  gave  me  a  raal  Irish  welcome,  and  introduced  me  to 
his  tw^o  daughters  —  as  purty  a  pair  of  girls  as  iver  ye  clapped 
an  eye  on.  But  when  I  tould  him  me  adventure  in  the 
woods,  and  about  the  fellow  who  made  fun  of  me,  they  all 
laughed  and  roared,  and  Dennis  said  it  was  an  owl. 

''An  ould  what?"  sez  I. 

"  Why,  an  owl,  a  bird,"  sez  he. 

"  Do  ye  tell  me  now  ?  "  sez  I.  "  Sure  it's  a  quare  country 
and  a  quare  bird." 

And  thin  they  all  laughed  again,  till  at  last  I  laughed  my- 
self, that  hearty  like,  and  dropped  right  into  a  chair  between 
the  two  purty  girls,  and  the  ould  chap  winked  at  me  and 
roared  again. 

Dennis  is  me  father-in-law^  now,  and  he  often  yet  delights 
to  tell  our  children  about  their  daddy's  adventure  wrid  the 
owl. 


MARULLUS  TO    THE  ROMAN  POPULACE, 

Wherefore  rejoice  that  Cassar  comes  in  triumph.^ 

What  conquest  brings  he  home? 

What  tributaries  follow  him  to  Rome, 

To  grace  in  captive  bonds  his  chariot  wheels? 

You  blocks,  you  stones,  you  worse  than  senseless  things ! 

O  you  hard  hearts,  you  cruel  men  of  Rome ! 

Knew  you  not  Pompey?  Many  a  time  and  oft 
Have  you  cUmbed  up  to  walls  and  battlements, 
To  towers,  and  windows,  yea,  to  chimney-tops, 


252  ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS. 

Your  infants  in  your  arms,  and  there  have  sat 

The  h*ve-long  chiy  with  patient  expectation 

To  see  great  Ponipey  pass  the  streets  of  Rome. 

And  when  you  saw  his  chariot  but  appear, 
Have  you  not  made  a  universal  shout, 
That  Tiber  trembled  underneath  her  banks, 
To  hear  the  replication  of  your  sounds. 
Made  in  her  concave  shores? 

And  do  you  now  put  on  your  best  attire.^ 

And  do  you  now  cull  out  a  holiday? 

And  do  you  now  strew  flowers  in  his  way, 

That  comes  in  triumph  over  Pompey's  blood?  — 

Begone  !     Run  to  your  houses,  fall  upon  your  knees. 

Pray  to  the  gods  to  intermit  the  plague 

That  needs  must  light  on  this  ingratitude ! 

Shakespeare. 


OVER   THE  RIVER, 

Over  the  river  they  beckon  to  me, 

Loved  ones  who  crossed  to  the  other  side ; 
The  gleam  of  their  snowy  robes  I  see, 

But  their  voices  are  drowned  by  the  rushing  tide. 
There's  one  with  ringlets  of  sunny  gold. 

And  eyes  the  reflection  of  heaven's  own  blue ; 
He  crossed  in  the  twilight  gray  and  cold. 

And  the  pale  mist  hid  him  from  mortal  view. 
We  saw  not  the  angels  who  met  him  there  — 

The  gate  of  the  city  we  could  not  see ; 
Over  the  river,  over  the  river. 

My  brother  stands,  waiting  to  welcome  me. 

Over  the  river  the  boatman  pale 

Carried  another,  the  household  pet ; 
Her  brown  curls  waved  in  the  gentle  gale  — 

Darlinty  Minnie  !  I  see  her  yet. 


ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS.  253 

She  closed  on  her  bosom  her  dimpled  hands, 

And  fearlessly  entered  the  phantom  bark  ; 
We  watched  it  glide  from  the  silver  sands,  ' 

And  all  our  sunshine  grew  strangely  dark. 
We  know  she  is  safe  on  the  further  side, 

Where  all  the  ransomed  and  angels  be ; 
Over  the  river,  the  mystic  river, 

My  childhood's  idol  is  waiting  for  me. 

For  none  return  from  those  quiet  shores, 

Who  cross  with  the  boatman  cold  and  pale ; 
We  hear  the  dip  of  the  golden  oars, 

And  catch  a  glimpse  of  the  snowy  sail ; 
And  lo  !  they  have  passed  from  our  yearning  hearts  — 

They  cross  the  stream  and  are  gone  for  aye. 
We  may  not  sunder  the  veil  apart 

That  hides  from  our  vision  the  gates  of  day ; 
We  only  know  that  their  barks  no  more 

Sail  with  us  o'er  life's  stormy  sea ; 
Yet  somewhere,  I  know,  on  the  unseen  shore, 

They  watch,  and  beckon,  and  wait  for  me. 

And  I  sit  and  think  when  the  sunset's  gold 

Is  flashing  on  river,  and  hill,  and  shore, 
I  shall  one  day  stand  by  the  waters  cold 

And  list  for  the  sound  of  the  boatman's  oar. 
I  shall  watch  for  a  gleam  of  the  flapping  sail ; 

I  shall  hear  the  boat  as  it  gains  the  strand ; 
I  shall  pass  from  sight  with  the  boatman  pale 

To  tlie  better  shore  of  the  spirit-Ian^. 
I  shall  know  the  loved  who  have  gone  before, 

And  joyfully  sweet  will  the  meeting  be. 
When  over  the  river,  the  peaceful  river. 

The  angel  of  death  shall  carry  me. 

N.  A.  W.  Priest. 


25  J:  ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS. 


MAUD  MULLER. 

Maud  Muller,  on  a  summer's  day, 
Raked  the  meadow  sweet  with  hay. 

Beneath  her  torn  hat  glowed  the  wealth 
Of  simple  beauty  and  rustic  health. 

Singing,  she  wrought,  and  her  merry  glee 
The  mock-bird  echoed  from  his  tree. 

But,  when  she  glanced  to  the  far-off  town, 
White  from  its  hill-slope  looking  down, 

The  sweet  song  died,  and  a  vague  unrest 
And  a  nameless  longing  filled  her  breast, — 

A  wish,  that  she  hardly  dared  to  own, 
For  something  better  than  she  had  known. 

The  Judge  rode  slowly  down  the  lane, 
Smoothing  his  horse's  chestnut  mane. 

He  drew  his  bridle  in  the  shade 

Of  the  apple-trees,  to  greet  the  maid, 

And  ask  a  draught  from  the  spring  that  flowed 
Through  the  meadow  across  the  road. 

She  stooped  where  the  cool  spring  bubbled  up. 
And  filled  for  him  her  small  tin  cup, 

And  blushed  as  she  gave  it,  looking  down 
On  her  feet  so  bare,  and  her  tattered  gown. 

"  Thanks  !  "  said  the  Judge,  "  a  sweeter  draught 
From  a  fairer  hand  was  never  quafled." 

He  spoke  of  the  grass  and  flowers  and  trees, 
Of  the  singing  birds  and  the  humming  bees ; 

Then  talked  of  the  haying,  and  wondered  whethei 
The  cloud  in  the  west  would  bring  foul  weather. 


ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS.  255 

And  Maud  forgot  her  brier-torn  gown, 
And  her  graceful  ankles  bare  and  brown ; 

And  listened,  while  a  pleased  surprise 
Looked  from  her  long-lashed  hazel  eyes. 

At  last,  like  one  who  for  delay 
Seeks  a  vain  excuse,  he  rode  away. 

Maud  Muller  looked  and  sighed  :  "  Ah,  me! 
That  I  the  Judge's  bride  might  be! 

"  He  would  dress  me  up  in  silks  so  fine, 
And  praise  and  toast  me  at  his  wine. 

"My  father  should  wear  a  broadcloth  coat; 
My  brother  should  sail  a  painted  boat. 

"  rd  dress  my  mother  so  grand  and  gay  ; 
And  the  baby  should  have  a  new  toy  each  day. 

"  And  I'd  feed  the  hungry  and  clothe  the  poor, 
And  all  should  bless  me  who  left  our  door." 

The  Judge  looked  back  as  he  climbed  the  hill, 
And  saw  Maud  Muller  standing  still. 

*'  A  form  more  fair,  a  face  more  sweet, 
Ne'er  hath  it  been  my  lot  to  meet. 

"  And  her  modest  answer  and  graceful  air 
Show  her  wise  and  good  as  she  is  fair. 

''  Would  she  were  mine,  and  I  to-day. 
Like  her,  a  harvester  of  hay : 

''  No  doubtful  balance  of  rights  and  wrongs, 
Nor  weary  lawyers  with  endless  tongues. 

*'  But  low  of  cattle  and  song  of  birds. 
And  health  and  quiet  and  loving  words." 

But  he  thought  of  his  sisters  proud  and  cold. 
And  his  mother  vain  of  her  rank  and  gold. 


256  ADVANCED    READINGS   AND    RECITATIONS. 

So,  closing  his  heart,  the  Judge  rode  on, 
And  Maud  was  left  in  the  field  alone. 

But  the  lawyers  smiled  that  afternoon. 
When  he  hummed  in  court  an  old  love-tune ; 

And  the  young  girl  mused  beside  the  well, 
Till  the  rain  on  the  unraked  clover  fell. 

He  wedded  a  wife  of  richest  dower, 
Who  lived  for  fashion,  as  he  for  power. 

Yet  oft,  in  his  marble  hearth's  bright  glow, 
He  watched  a  picture  come  and  go : 

And  sweet  Maud  Muller's  hazel  eyes 
Looked  out  in  their  innocent  surprise. 

Oft,  when  the  wine  in  his  glass  was  red. 
He  longed  for  the  wayside  well  instead ; 

And  closed  his  eyes  on  his  garnished  rooms, 
To  dream  of  meadows  and  clover-blooms. 

And  the  proud  man  sighed,  with  a  secret  pain  ? 
"Ah,  that  I  were  free  again  !  * 

"  Free  as  when  I  rode  that  day. 

Where  the  barefoot  maiden  raked  her  hay." 

She  wedded  a  man  unlearned  and  poor, 
And  many  children  played  round  her  door. 

But  care  and  sorrow,  and  childbirth  pain. 
Left  their  traces  on  heart  and  brain. 

And  oft,  when  the  summer  sun  shone  hot 
On  the  new-mown  hay  in  the  meadow  lot, 

And  she  heard  the  little  spring  brook  fall 
Over  the  roadside,  through  the  wall, 

In  the  shade  of  the  apple-tree  again 
She  saw  a  rider  draw  his  rein. 


ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS.  257 

And,  gazing  down  with  timid  grace, 
She  felt  his  pleased  eyes  read  her  face. 

Sometimes  her  narrow  kitchen  walls 
Stretched  away  into  stately  halls ; 

The  weary  wheel  to  a  spionet  tnrned, 
The  tallow  candle  an  astral  burned, 

And  for  him  who  sat  by  the  chimney  lug, 
Dozing  and  grumbling  o'er  pipe  and  mug, 

A  manly  form  at  her  side  she  saw, 
And  joy  was  duty  and  love  was  law. 

Then  she  took  up  her  burden  of  life  again, 
Saying  only,  "  It  might  have  been." 

Alas  for  maiden,  alas  forjudge. 

For  rich  repiner  and  household  drudge ! 

God  pity  them  both  !   and  pity  us  all. 
Who  vainly  the  dreams  of  youth  recall. 

For  of  all  sad  words  of  tongue  or  pen, 

The  saddest  are  these  :  ''It  might  have  been  !*' 

Ah,  well !  for  us  all  some  sweet  hope  lies 
Deeply  buried  from  human  eyes  ; 

And,  in  the  hereafter,  angels  may 
Roll  the  stone  from  its  grave  away ! 

Whittier. 


LAST  CHARGE   OF  NEY. 

The  whole  continental  struggle  exhibited  no  sublimer 
spectacle  than  this  last  effort  of  Napoleon  to  save  his  sinking 
empire.  Europe  had  been  put  upon  the  plains  of  Waterloo 
to  be  battled  for.  The  greatest  military  energy  and  skill 
the  world  possessed  had  been  tasked  to  the  utmost  during  the 
day.     Thrones  were  tottering  on  the  ensanguined  field,  and 

17 


258  ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS. 

the  bhadows  of  fugitive  kings  flitted  through  the  smoke  of 
battle. 

Bonaparte's  star  trembled  in  the  zenith,  —  now  blazing 
out  in  its  ancient  splendor,  now  suddenly  paling  before  his 
anxious  eye.  At  length,  when  the  Prussians  appeared  on 
the  field,  he  resolved  to  stake  Europe  on  one  bold  throw. 
He  committed  himself  and  France  to  Ney,  and  saw  his 
empire  rest  on  a  single  chance. 

Ney  felt  the  pressure  of  the  immense  responsibility  on  his 
brave  heart,  and  resolved  not  to  prove  unworthy  of  the  great 
trust.  Nothing  could  be  more  imposing  than  the  movement 
of  that  grand  column  to  the  assault.  That  guard  had  never 
yet  recoiled  before  a  human  foe  ;  and  the  allied  forces  beheld 
with  awe  its  firm  and  terrible  advance  to  the  final  charge. 

For  a  moment  the  batteries  stopped  playing,  and  the  firing 
ceased  along  the  British  lines,  as,  without  the  beating  of  a 
drum,  or  the  blast  of  a  bugle,  to  cheer  their  steady  courage, 
they  moved  in  dead  silence  over  the  plain.  The  next  moment 
the  artillery  opened,  and  the  head  of  that  gallant  column 
seemed  to  sink  into  the  earth.  Rank  after  rank  went  down  ; 
}  et  they  neither  stopped  nor  faltered.  Dissolving  squadrons, 
and  wdiole  battalions  disappearing  one  after  another  in  the 
destructive  fire,  afiected  not  their  steady  courage.  The  ranks 
closed  up  as  before,  and  each,  treading  over  his  fallen  com- 
rade, pressed  firmly  on. 

The  horse  which  Ney  rode  fell  under  him,  and  he  had 
scarcely  mounted  another  before  it  also  sank  to  the  earth. 
Again  and  again  did  that  unflinching  man  feel  his  steed  sink 
down,  till  five  had  been  shot  under  him.  Then,  with  his 
uniform  riddled  with  bullets,  and  his  face  singed  and  black- 
ened with  powder,  he  marched  on  foot,  with  drawn  sabre, 
at  the  head  of  his  men.  In  vain  did  the  artillery  hurl  its 
storm  of  fire  and  lead  into  that  living  mass.  Up  to  the  very 
muzzles  they  pressed,  and,  driving  the  artillerymen  from  their 
own  pieces,  pushed  on  through  the  English  lines. 

But  at  that  moment  a  file  of  soldiers  who  had  lain  flat  on 
the  ground,  behind  a  low  ridge  of  earth,  suddenly  rose,  and 


ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS.  259 

poured  a  volley  in  their  very  faces.  Another  and  another 
followed,  till  one  broad  sheet  of  flame  rolled  on  their  bosoms, 
and  in  such  a  fierce  and  unexpected  flow,  that  human  courage 
could  not  withstand  it.  They  reeled,  shook,  staggered  back, 
then  turned  and  fled. 

Ney  was  borne  back  in  the  refluent  tide,  and  hurried  over 
the  field.  But  for  the  crowd  of  fugitives  that  forced  him  on, 
he  would  have  stood  alone,  and  fallen  on  his  footsteps.  As 
it  was,  (hsdaining  to  fly,  though  the  whole  army  was  flying, 
he  formed  his  men  into  two  immense  squares,  and  endeav- 
ored to  stem  the  terrific  current,  and  would  have  done  so, 
had  it  not  been  for  the  thirty  thousand  fresh  Prussians  that 
pressed  on  his  exhausted  ranks. 

For  a  long  time  these  squares  stood  and  let  the  artillery 
plough  through  them.  But  the  fate  of  Napoleon  was  writ ; 
and  though  Ney  doubtless  did  what  no  other  man  in  the 
army  could  have  done,  the  decree  could  not  be  reversed. 
The  star,  that  had  blazed  so  brightly  over  the  world,  went 
down  in  blood,  and  the  "  bravest  of  the  brave  "  had  fought 
his  last  battle.  It  was  worthy  of  his  great  name  ;  and  the 
charge  of  the  Old  Guard  at  Waterloo,  with  him  at  their  head, 
will  be  pointed  to  by  remotest  generations  with  a  shudder. 

J.  T.  Headley. 


THE  BRIDES  OF  EN  DERBY;   OR,   THE  HIGH  TIDE, 

The  old  mayor  climbed  the  belfry  tower, 
The  ringers  ran  by  two,  by  three  ; 

"  Pull,  if  ye  never  pulled  before  ; 

Good  ringers,  pull  your  best,*'  quoth  he. 

"  Play  uppe,  play  uppe,  O  Boston  bells ! 

Ply  all  your  changes  all  your  swells, 
Play  uppe  '  The  Brides  of  Enderby.'  " 

Men  say  it  was  a  stolen  tyde  — 

The  Lord  that  sent  it,  He  knows  all ; 

But  in  myne  ears  doth  still  abide 
The  messaore  that  the  bells  let  fall : 


260  ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS. 

And  there  was  naught  of  strange,  beside 
The  flight  of  mews  and  pewits  pied 

By  milHons  crouched  on  the  old  sea-wall. 

I  sat  and  spun  within  the  doore, 

My  thread  brake  off*,  I  raised  myne  eyes ; 
The  level  sun,  like  ruddy  ore, 

Lay  sinking  in  the  barren  skies, 
And  dark  against  day's  golden  death 
She  moved  where  Lindis  wandereth, 
My  Sonne's  faire  wife,  Elizabeth. 

"  Cusha  !  Cusha  !  Cusha  !  "  calling 
Ere  the  early  dews  were  falling, 
Farre  away  I  heard  her  song. 
"  Cusha  !  Cusha  !  "  all  along  ; 
Where  the  reedy  Lindis  floweth, 

Floweth,  floweth, 
From  tlic  meads  where  melick  groweth 
Faintly  came  her  milking  song  — 

"  Cusha  !  Cusha  !  Cusha  !  "  calling, 
"  For  the  dews  will  soone  be  falling; 
Leave  your  meadow  grasses  mellow, 

Mellow,  mellow, 
Qiiit  your  cowslips,  cowslips  yellow  ; 
Come  uppe  Whitefoot,  come  uppe  Lightfoot, 
Qiiit  the  stalks  of  parsley  hollow, 

Hollow,  hollow  ; 
Come  uppe  Jetty,  rise  and  follow, 
From  the  clovers  lift  your  head ; 
Come  uppe  Whitefoot,  come  uppe  Lightfoot, 
Come  uppe  Jetty,  rise  and  follow. 
Jetty,  to  the  milking  shed."  ^ 

If  it  be  long,  ay,  long  ago. 

When  I  beginne  to  think  howe  long, 

Againe  I  hear  the  Lindis  flow% 

Swift  as  an  arrowe,  sharp  and  strong ; 


ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS.  261 

And  all  the  aire,  it  seemeth  mee, 
Bin  full  of  floating  bells  (sayth  shee), 
That  ring  the  tune  of  Enderby. 

Alle  fresh  the  level  pasture  lay, 

And  not  a  shadowe  mote  be  seene, 
Save  where  full  fyve  good  miles  away 

The  steeple  towered  from  out  the  greene ; 
And  lo  !  the  great  bell  farre  and  wide 
Was  heard  in  all  the  country  side 
That  Saturday  at  eventide. 

The  swanhsrds  where  there  sedges  are 
Moved  on  in  sunset's  golden  breath, 

The  shepherde  lads  I  heard  afarre, 
And  my  Sonne's  wife,  Elizabeth  ; 

Till  floating  o'er  the  grassy  sea 

Came  downe  that  kindly  message  free, 

The  ''  Brides  of  Mavis  Enderby." 

Then  some  looked  uppe  into  the  sky, 

And  all  along  where  Lindis  flows 
To  where  the  goodly  vessels  lie, 

And  where  the  lordly  steeple  shows, 
They  sayde,  *'  And  why  should  this  thing  be? 
What  danger  lowers  by  land  or  sea? 
They  ring  the  tune  of  Enderby  ! 

*'  For  evil  news  from  Mablethorpe, 

Of  pyrate  galleys  warping  downe  ; 
For  sliippes  ashore  beyond  the  scorpe, 

They  have  not  spared  to  wake  the  towne : 
But  while  the  west  bin  red  to  see, 
And  storms  be  none,  and  pyrates  flee. 
Why  ring  '  The  Brides  of  Enderby?'" 

I  looked  without,  and  lo  !   my  sonne 

Came  riding  down  with  might  and  main: 

He  raised  a  shout  as  he  drew  on. 
Till  all  the  welkin  rang  again, 


262  ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS. 

"  Elizabeth  !  Elizabeth  !  " 

(A  sweeter  woman  ne'er  drew  breath 

Than  my  Sonne's  wife,  Elizabeth.) 

*'  The  old  sea  wall  (he  cried)  is  downe, 

The  rising  tide  comes  on  apace, 
And  boats  adrift  in  yonder  towne 

Go  sailing  uppe  the  market-place." 
He  shook  as  one  that  looks  on  death : 
"God  save  you,  mother  !  "  strait  he  saith 
"  Where  is  my  wife,  Elizabeth?  " 

"  Good  Sonne,  where  Lindis  winds  away, 

With  her  two  bairns  I  marked  her  long ; 
And  ere  yon  bells  beganne  to  play 
Afar  I  heard  her  milking  song." 
He  looked  across  the  grassy  lea, 
To  right,  to  left,  "  Ho  Enderby  ! " 
They  rang  ''  The  Brides  of  Enderby  !  " 

With  that  he  cried  and  beat  his  breast ; 

For,  lo  !  along  the  river's  bed 
A  mighty  eygre  reared  his  crest, 

And  uppe  the  Lindis  raging  sped. 
It  swept  with  thunderous  noises  loud  ; 
Shaped  like  a  curling  snow-white  cloud, 
Or  like  a  demon  in  a  shroud. 

And  rearing  Lindis  backward  pressed. 

Shook  all  her  trembling  bankes  amaine, 
Then  madly  at  the  eygre's  breast 

Flung  uppe  her  w^eltering  walls  again. 
Then  bankes  came  downe  with  ruin  and  rout 
Then  beaten  foam  flew  round  about  — 
Then  all  the  mighty  floods  were  out. 

So  farre,  so  fast  the  eygre  drave, 

The  heart  had  hardly  time  to  beat, 
Before  a  shallow  seething  wave 
Sobbed  in  the  grasses  at  cure  feet, 


ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS.  263 

The  feet  had  hardly  time  to  flee 
Before  it  brake  against  the  knee, 
And  all  the  world  was  in  the  sea. 

Upon  the  roofe  we  sat  that  night, 

The  noise  of  bells  went  sweeping  by  ; 

I  marked  the  lofty  beacon  light 

Stream  from  the  church  tower,  red  and  high  — 

A  lurid  mark  and  dread  to  see  ; 

And  awesome  bells  they  were  to  mee, 

That  in  the  dark  rang  "  Enderby." 

They  rang  the  sailor  lads  to  guide 

From  roofe  to  roofe  who  fearless  rowed ; 

And  I  —  my  sonne  was  at  my  side. 
And  yet  the  ruddy  beacon  glowed  ; 

And  yet  he  moaned  beneath  his  breath, 

'*  O  come  in  life,  or  come  in  death  ! 

0  lost!  my  love,  Elizabeth." 

And  did'st  thou  visit  him  no  more? 

Thou  did'st,  thou  did'st,  my  daughter  deare; 
The  waters  laid  thee  at  his  doore. 

Ere  yet  the  early  dawn  was  clear, 
Thy  pretty  bairns  in  fast  embrace. 
The  lifted  sun  shone  on  thy  face, 
Downe  drifted  to  thy  dwelling-place. 

That  flow  strewed  wrecks  about  the  grass. 
That  ebbe  swept  out  the  flocks  to  sea ; 

A  fatal  ebbe  and  flow,  alas ! 

To  manye  more  than  myne  and  me : 

But  each  will  mourn  his  own  (she  saith), 

And  sweeter  woman  ne'er  drew  breath 

Than  my  Sonne's  wife,  Elizabeth. 

1  shall  never  hear  her  more 
By  the  reedy  Lindis  shore, 
*'Cusha!  Cusha!  Cusha  ! "  calHng 
Ere  the  early  dews  be  falling ; 


26-lr  ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS. 

I  shall  never  hear  her  song, 
"  Cusha  !  Cusha  !  "  all  along 
Where  the  sunny  Lindis  floweth, 

Goeth,  floweth  ; 
From  the  meads  where  melick  groweth, 
When  the  water  winding  down, 
Onward  floweth  to  the  town. 

I  shall  never  see  her  more 

Where  the  reeds  and  rushes  quiver, 

Shiver,  quiver ; 
Stand  beside  the  sobbing  river, 
Sobbing,  throbbing,  in  its  falling 
To  the  sandy  lonesome  shore  ; 
I  shall  never  hear  her  calling, 
"  Leave  your  meadow  grasses  mellow, 

Mellow,  mellow ; 
Qiiit  your  cowslips,  cowslips  yellow  ; 
Come  uppe  Whitefoot,  come  uppe  Lightfoot; 
Qiiit  your  pipes  of  parsley  hollow. 

Hollow,  hollow ; 
Come  uppe  Lightfoot,  rise  and  follow ; 

Lightfoot,  Whitefoot, 
From  your  clovers  lift  your  head ; 
Come  uppe  Jetty,  follow,  follow, 
Jetty,  to  the  milking-shed." 

Jean  Ingelow. 


THOSE  EVENING  BELLS. 

IHOSE  evening  bells!  those  evening  bells f 
How  many  a  tale  their  music  tells 
Of  youth,  and  home,  and  that  sweet  time 
When  last  I  heard  their  soothing  chime! 


ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS.  265 

Those  joyous  hours  are  passed  away; 
And  many  a  heart  that  then  was  gay 
Within  the  tomb  now  darkly  dwells, 
And  hears  no  more  those  evening  bells. 

And  so  'twill  be  when  I  am  gone,  — 
That  tuneful  peal  will  still  ring  on  ; 
While  other  bards  shall  walk  these  dells. 
And  sing  your  praise,  sweet  evening  bells. 

Thomas  Moore. 


THE    VOYAGE. 


To  an  American  visiting  Europe,  the  long  voyage  he  has 
to  make  is  an  excellent  preparative.  From  the  moment  you 
lose  sight  of  the  land  you  have  left,  all  is  vacancy  until  you 
step  on  the  opposite  shore,  and  are  launched  at  once  into 
the  bustle  and  novelties  of  another  world. 

I  have  said  that  at  sea  all  is  vacancy.  I  should  correct 
the  expression.  To  one  given  up  to  day-dreaming,  and  fond 
of  losing  himself  in  reveries,  a  sea- voyage  is  full  of  subjects 
for  meditation  ;  but  then  they  are  the  wonders  of  the  deep, 
and  of  the  air,  and  rather  tend  to  abstract  the  mind  from 
worldly  themes.  I  delighted  to  loll  over  the  quarter-railing, 
or  climb  to  the  main-top  on  a  calm  day,  and  muse  for  hours 
together  on  the  tranquil  bosom  of  a  summer's  sea  ;  or  to 
gaze  upon  the  piles  of  golden  clouds  just  peering  above  the 
horizon,  fancy  them  some  fairy  realms,  and  people  them 
with  a  creation  of  my  own  ;  or  to  watch  the  gentle  undulat- 
ing billows,  rolling  their  silver  volumes  as  if  to  die  away  on 
those  happy  shores. 

There  was  a  delicious  sensation  of  mingled  security  and 
awe,  with  which  I  looked  down,  from  my  giddy  height,  on 
the  monsters  of  the  deep  at  their  uncouth  gaml)oIs, —  shoals 
of  porpoises  tumbling  about  the  bow  of  the  ship  ;  the  gram- 
pus, slowly  heaving  his  huge  form  above  the  surface  ;  or  the 


26G  ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS. 

ravenous  shark,  darting  like  a  spectre  through  the  blue 
waters.  My  imagination  would  conjure  up  all  that  I  had 
heard  or  read  of  the  watery  world  beneath  me  ;  of  the  finny 
herds  that  roam  its  fathomless  valleys  ;  of  shapeless  mon- 
sters that  lurk  among  the  very  foundations  of  the  eartli ;  and 
of  those  wild  phantasms  that  swell  the  tales  of  fishermen  and 
sailors. 

Sometimes  a  distant  sail,  gliding  along  the  edge  of  the 
ocean,  would  be  another  theme  of  idle  speculation.  How 
interesting  this  fragment  of  a  world  hastening  to  rejoin  the 
great  mass  of  existence  !  What  a  glorious  monument  of 
human  invention,  that  has  thus  triumphed  over  wind  and 
wave  ;  has  brought  the  ends  of  the  earth  in  communion  ;  has 
established  an  interchange  of  blessings,  pouring  into  the 
sterile  regions  of  the  North  all  the  luxuries  of  the  South  ; 
diflused  the  light  of  knowledge  and  the  charities  of  culti- 
vated life  ;  and  has  thus  bound  together  those  scattered  por- 
tions of  the  human  race,  between  which  nature  seemed  to 
have  thrown  an  insurmountable  barrier  ! 

We  one  day  descried  some  shapeless  object  drifting  at  a 
distance.  At  sea,  everything  that  breaks  the  monotony  of 
the  surrounding  expanse  attracts  attention.  It  proved  to  be 
tlie  mast  of  a  ship  that  must  have  been  completely  wrecked  ; 
for  there  were  the  remains  of  handkerchiefs,  by  which  some 
of  the  crew  had  fastened  themselves  to  this  spar,  to  prevent 
their  being  washed  off  by  the  waves.  There  was  no  trace 
by  which  the  name  of  the  ship  could  be  ascertained.  The 
wreck  had  evidently  drifted  about  for  many  months ;  clus- 
ters of  shell-fish  had  fastened  about  it,  and  long  sea-weeds 
flaunted  at  its  sides.  But  where,  thought  I,  are  the  crew? 
Their  struggle  has  long  been  over ;  they  have  gone  down 
amidst  the  roar  of  the  tempest;  their  bones  lie  whitening  in 
the  caverns  of  the  deep.  Silence,  oblivion,  like  the  waves, 
have  closed  over  them,  and  no  one  can  tell  the  story  of  their 
end. 

What  sighs  have  been  wafted  after  that  ship  !  wdiat  prayers 
offered   up  at  the  deserted  fireside  of  home  !      How  often 


ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS.  267 

has  the  mistress,  the  wife,  and  the  mother  pored  over  the 
daily  news  to  catch  some  casual  intelligence  of  this  rover  of 
the  deep !  How  has  expectation  darkened  into  anxiety, 
anxiety  into  dread,  and  dread  into  despair!  Alas!  not  one 
memento  shall  ever  return  for  love  to  cherish.  All  that 
shall  ever  be  known  is,  that  she  sailed  from  her  port,  "  and 
was  never  heard  of  more." 

The  sight  of  the  wreck,  as  usual,  gave  rise  to  many  dis- 
mal anecdotes.  This  was  particularly  the  case  in  the  even- 
ing, when  the  weather,  which  had  hitherto  been  fair,  began 
to  look  wild  and  threatening,  and  gave  indications  of  one  of 
those  sudden  storms  that  will  sometimes  break  in  upon  the 
serenity  of  a  summer  voyage.  As  we  sat  round  the  dull 
light  of  a  lamp  in  the  cabin,  that  made  the  gloom  more 
ghastly,  every  one  had  his  tale  of  shipwreck  and  disaster.  I 
was  particularly  struck  w^ith  a  short  one  related  by  the 
captain. 

'*  As  I  was  once  sailing,"  said  he,  "  in  a  fine,  stout  ship, 
across  the  banks  of  Newfoundland,  one  of  the  heavy  fogs, 
that  prevail  in  those  parts,  rendered  it  impossible  for  me  to 
see  far  ahead,  even  in  the  daytime  ;  but  at  night  the  weather 
was  so  thick  that  we  could  not  distinguish  any  object  at 
twice  the  length  of  our  ship.  I  kept  lights  at  the  mast-head, 
and  a  constant  watch  forward  to  look  out  for  fishing-smacks, 
which  are  accustomod  to  lie  at  anchor  on  the  banks.  The 
wind  was  blowing  a  smacking  breeze,  and  we  were  going  at 
a  great  rate  through  the  water.  Suddenly  the  watch  gave 
the  alarm  of  '  a  sail  ahead  !  '  but  it  was  scarcely  uttered  till 
we  were  upon  her.  She  was  a  small  schooner  at  anchor, 
with  her  broadside  towards  us.  The  crew  were  all  asleep, 
and  had  neglected  to  hoist  a  light.  We  struck  her  just 
amidships.  The  force,  the  size  and  weight  of  our  vessel, 
bore  her  down  below  the  waves  ;  we  passed  over  her,  and 
were  hurried  on  our  course. 

''As  the  crashing  wreck  was  sinking  beneath  us,  1  had  a 
glimpse  of  two  or  three  half-naked  wretches  rushing  from 
her  cabin  ;  they  had  just  started  from  their  beds  to  be  swal- 


268  ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS. 

lowcJ,  shrieking,  by  the  waves.  I  heard  their  drowning  cry 
niingliiig  with  the  wind.  The  Hast  that  bore  it  to  our  ears 
swept  us  out  of  all  further  hearing.  I  shall  never  forget 
that  cry  !  It  w?«s  some  time  before  we  could  put  the  ship 
about,  she  v/as  under  such  headway.  We  returned,  as 
nearly  as  we  could  guess,  to  the  place  where  the  smack  was 
anchored.  We  cruised  about  for  several  hours  in  the  dense 
fog.  We  fired  several  guns,  and  listened  if  we  might  hear 
the  halloo  of  any  survivors;  but  all  was  silent, —  we  never 
heard  nor  saw  anything  of  them  more  !  " 

It  was  a  fine  sunny  morning  when  the  thrilling  cry  of 
''  land  !  "  was  given  from  the  mast-head.  I  question  whether 
Columbus,  when  he  discovered  the  New  World,  felt  a  more 
delicious  throng  of  sensations,  than  rush  into  an  American'^ 
bosom  when  he  first  comes  in  sight  of  Europe.  There  is  a 
volume  of  associations  in  the  very  name.  It  is  the  land  of 
promise,  teeming  with  everything  of  which  his  childhood 
has  heard,  or  on  which  his  studious  years  have  pondereJ. 

From  that  time  until  the  period  of  arrival,  it  was  all  fever- 
ish excitement.  The  ships  of  war,  that  ])r()wled  like  guar- 
dian giants  around  the  coast;  the  headlands  of  Irelaiul, 
stretching  out  into  the  channel  ;  the  Welsh  mountains,  tow- 
ering into  the  clouds, —  all  were  objects  of  intense  interest. 
As  we  sailed  up  the  Mersey,  I  reconnoitered  the  shores  witii 
a  telescope.  My  eye  dwelt  with  delight  on  neat  cottages, 
with  their  trim  shrubberies  and  green  grass-plots.  I  saw 
the  mouldering  ruins  of  an  abbey  overrun  with  ivv,  and  the 
taper  spire  of  a  village  church  rising  from  the  brow  of  a 
neighboring  hill ;  all  were  characteristic  of  England. 

Washington  Irving 


ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS.  269 


ROCK  ME  TO  SLEEP. 

Backward,  turn  backward,  O  Time,  in  your  flight. 
Make  me  a  child  again  just  for  to-night ! 
Mother,  come  back  from  the  echoless  shore. 
Take  me  again  to  your  heart  as  of  yore ; 
Kiss  from  my  forehead  the  furrows  of  care, 
Smooth  the  few  silver  threads  out  of  my  hair ; 
Over  my  slumbers  your  loving  watch  keep  ;  — 
Rock  me  to  sleep,  mother,  —  rock  me  to  sleep ! 

Backward,  flow  backward,  oh,  tide  of  the  years ! 

I  am  so  weary  of  toil  and  of  tears,  — 

Toil  without  recompense,  tears  all  in  vain, — 

Take  them,  and  give  me  my  childhood  again ! 

I  have  grown  weary  of  dust  and  decay,  — 

Weary  of  flinging  my  soul-wealth  away ; 

Weary  of  sowing  for  others  to  reap ;  — 

Rock  me  to  sleep,  mother,  —  rock  me  to  sleep ! 

Tired  of  the  hollow,  the  base,  the  untrue, 
Mother,  O  mother,  my  heart  calls  for  you  ! 
Many  a  summer  the  grass  has  grown  green, 
Blossomed  and  faded,  our  faces  between : 
Yet,  with  strong  yearning  and  passionate  pain. 
Long  I  to-night  for  your  presence  again. 
Come  from  the  silence  so  long  and  so  deep  ;  — 
Rock  me  to  sleep,  mother,  —  rock  me  to  sleep ! 

Over  my  heart,  in  the  days  that  are  flown, 
No  love  like  mother-love  ever  has  shone ; 
No  other  worship  abides  and  endures,  — 
Faithful,  unselfish,  and  patient  like  yours : 
None  like  a  mother  can  charm  away  pain 
From  the  sick  soul  and  the  world-weary  brain. 
Slumber's  soft  calms  o'er  my  heavy  lids  creep  ;  — 
Rock  me  to  sleep,  mother,  —  rock  me  to  sleep  ! 


270  ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS. 

Come,  let  your  brown  hair,  just  lighted  with  gold, 
Fall  on  your  shoulders  again  as  of  old  ; 
Let  it  drop  over  my  forehead  to-night. 
Shading  my  faint  eyes  away  from  the  light ; 
For  with  its  sunny-edged  shadows  once  more 
Haply  will  throng  the  sweet  visions  of  yore ; 
Lovingly,  softly,  its  bright  billows  sweep ;  — 
Rock  me  to  sleep,  mother,  —  rock  me  to  sleep ! 

Mother,  dear  mother,  the  years  have  been  long 
Since  I  last  listened  your  lullaby  song : 
Sing,  then,  and  unto  my  soul  it  shall  seem 
Womanhood's  years  have  been  only  a  dream. 
Clasped  to  your  heart  in  a  loving  embrace. 
With  your  light  lashes  just  sweeping  my  face. 
Never  hereafter  to  wake  or  to  weep  ;  — 
Rock  me  to  sleep,  mother,  —  rock  me  to  sleep ! 

Elizabeth  Aker.    Allen, 


SHERIDAN'S  RIDE. 

Up  from  the  South  at  break  of  day. 
Bringing  to  Winchester  fresh  dismay. 
The  atfrighted  air  with  a  shudder  bore. 
Like  a  herald  in  haste  to  the  chieftain's  door, 
The  terrible  grumble,  and  rumble,  and  roar, 
Telling  the  battle  was  on  once  more, 
And  Sheridan  twenty  miles  away. 

And  wider  still  those  billows  of  war 
Thundered  along  the  horizon's  bar ; 
And  louder  yet  into  Winchester  rolled 
The  roar  of  that  red  sea  uncontrolled. 
Making  the  blood  of  the  listener  cold. 
As  he  thought  of  the  stake  in  that  fiery  fray, 
And  Sheridan  twenty  miles  away. 


ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS,  271 

But  there  is  a  road  from  Winchester  town, 

A  good,  broad  highway  leading  down  ; 

And  there,  through  the  flush  of  the  morning  light 

A  steed  as  black  as  the  steeds  of  night. 

Was  seen  to  pass,  as  with  eagle-flight, 

As  if  he  knew  the  terrible  need  ; 

He  stretched  away  with  his  utmost  speed  ; 

Hills  rose  and  fell ;  but  his  heart  was  gay, 

With  Sheridan  fifteen  miles  away. 

Still  sprung  from  those  swift  hoofs,  thundering  south. 

The  dust,  like  smoke  from  the  cannon's  mouth  ; 

Or  the  trail  of  a  comet,  sweeping  faster  and  faster. 

Foreboding  to  traitors  the  doom  of  disaster. 

The  heart  of  the  steed  and  the  heart  of  the  master 

Were  beating  like  prisoners  assaulting  their  walls, 

Impatient  to  be  where  the  battle-field  calls  ; 

Every  nerve  of  the  charger  was  strained  to  full  play, 

With  Sheridan  only  ten  miles  away. 

Under  his  spurning  feet,  the  road 

Like  an  arrowy  Alpine  river  flowed, 

And  the  landscape  sped  away  behind 

Like  an  ocean  flying  before  the  wind. 

And  the  steed,  like  a  bark  fed  with  furnace  ire, 

Swept  on,  with  his  wild  eye  full  of  fire. 

But  lo  !  he  is  nearing  his  heart's  desire  ; 

He  is  snufting  the  smoke  of  the  roaring  fray, 

With  Sheridan  only  five  miles  away. 

The  first  that  the  General  saw  were  the  groups 

Of  stragglers,  and  then  the  retreating  troops ; 

What  w^as  done?  what  to  do?  a  glance  told  him  both, 

Then  striking  his  spurs,  with  a  terrible  oath, 

He  dashed  down  the  line,  'mid  a  storm  of  huzzas, 

And  the  wave  of  retreat  checked  its  course  there,  because 

The  sight  of  the  master  compelled  it  to  pause. 


272  ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS. 

With  foam  and  with  dust  the  black  charger  was  gray; 
By  the  flash  of  his  eye,  and  the  red  nostril's  play, 
He  seemed  to  the  whole  great  army  to  say, 
''  1  have  brought  you  Sheridan  all  the  way 
From  Winchester  down  to  save  the  day." 

Hurrah  !  hurrah  for  Sheridan  ! 

Hurrah  !  hurrah  for  horse  and  man  ! 

And  when  their  statues  are  placed  on  high, 

Under  the  dome  of  the  Union  sky. 

The  American  soldiers'  Temple  of  Fame, 

There  with  the  glorious  General's  name 

Be  it  said  in  letters  both  bold  and  bright: 

"  Here  is  the  steed  that  saved  the  day 

By  carrying  Sheridan  into  the  fight. 

From  Winchester  —  twenty  miles  away  I  " 

Thomas  Buchanan  Read. 


ORATION  AGAINST  CATILINE. 

How  long,  O  Catiline,  wilt  thou  abuse  our  patience? 
How  long  shalt  thou  baffle  justice  in  thy  mad  career?  To 
what  extreme  wilt  thou  carry  thy  audacity?  Art  thou 
nothing  daunted  by  the  nightly  watch,  posted  to  secure  the 
Palatium?  Nothing,  by  the  city  guards?  Nothing,  by  the 
rally  of  all  good  citizens?  Nothing,  by  the  assembling  of 
the  Senate  in  this  fortified  place?  Nothing,  by  the  averted 
looks  of  all  here  present?  Seest  thou  not  that  all  thy  plots 
are  exposed?  that  thy  wretched  conspiracy  is  laid  bare  to 
every  man's  knowledge,  here  in  the  Senate?  that  we  are 
well  aware  of  thy  proceedings  of  last  night ;  of  the  night 
before  ;  —  the  place  of  meeting,  the  compan}-  convoked,  the 
measures  concerted?  Alas,  the  times!  Alas,  the  public 
morals !  The  Senate  understands  all  this.  The  Consul  sees 
it.     Yet  the  traitor  lives!     Lives?     Ay,  truly,  and  confronts 


ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS.  273 

US  here  in  council,  takes  part  in  our  deliberations,  and  with 
his  measuring  eye,  marks  out  each  man  of  us  for  slaughter. 
And  we,  all  this  while,  strenuous  that  we  are,  think  we  have 
amply  discharged  our  duty  to  the  state,  if  we  but  shun  this 
madman's  sword  and  fury.  v^~^ 

Long  since,  O  Catiline,  ought  the  Consul  to  have  ordered 
thee  to  execution,  and  brought  upon  thine  own  head  the  ruin 
thou  hast  been  meditating  against  others.  There  was  that 
virtue  once  in  Rome,  that  a  wicked  citizen  was  held  more 
execrable  than  the  deadliest  foe.  We  have  a  law  still,  Cat- 
iline, for  thee.  Think  not  that  we  are  powerless,  because 
forbearing.  We  have  a  decree,  —  though  it  rests  among  our 
archives  like  a  sword  in  its  scabbard,  —  a  decree  by  which 
thy  life  would  be  made  to  pay  the  forfeit  of  thy  crimes.  And, 
should  I  order  thee  to  be  instantly  seized  and  put  to  death,  I 
make  just  doubt  whether  all  good  men  would  not  think  it 
done  rather  too  late,  than  any  man  too  cruelly. 

But,  for  good  reasons,  I  will  yet  defer  the  blow  long  since 
deserved.  Then  will  I  doom  thee,  when  no  man  is  found  so 
lost,  so  wicked,  nay,  so  like  thyself,  but  shall  confess  that  it 
was  justly  dealt.  While  there  is  one  man  that  dares  defend 
thee,  live !  But  thou  shalt  live  so  beset,  so  surrounded,  so 
scrutinized,  by  the  vigilant  guards  that  I  have  placed  around 
thee,  that  thou  shalt  not  stir  a  foot  against  the  Republic, 
without  my  knowledge.  There  shall  be  eyes  to  detect  thy 
slightest  movement,  and  ears  to  catch  thy  wariest  whisper, 
of  which  thou  shalt  not  dream.  The  darkness  of  night  shall 
not  cover  thy  treason,  —  the  walls  of  privacy  shall  not  stifle 
its  voice.  Baffled  on  all  sides,  thy  most  secret  counsels  clear 
as  noonday,  what  canst  thou  now  have  in  view?  Proceed, 
plot,  conspire,  as  thou  wilt;  there  is  nothing  you  can  con- 
trive, nothing  you  can  propose,  nothing  you  can  attempt, 
which  I  shall  not  know,  hear,  and  promptly  understand. 
Thou  shalt  soon  be  made  aware  that  I  am  even  more  active 
in  providing  for  the  preservation  of  the  state,  than  thou  i.\ 
plotting  its  destruction.  Cicero. 

18 


274  ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS. 


CATILINE'S  DEFIANCE, 

Conscript  Fathers  : 
I  do  not  rise  to  waste  the  night  in  words  ; 
Let  that  Plebeian  talk,  'tis  not  nay  trade  ; 
But  here  I  stand  for  right,  —  let  him  show  proofs,  — 
For  Roman  right,  though  none,  it  seems,  dare  stand 
To  take  their  share  with  me.     Ay,  cluster  there ! 
Cling  to  your  master,  judges,  Romans,  slaves  ! 
His  charge  is  false  ;  —  I  dare  him  to  his  proofs. 
You  have  my  answer.     Let  my  actions  speak ! 

But  this  I  will  avow,  that  I  have  scorned 
And  still  do  scorn,  to  hide  my  sense  of  wrong. 
Who  brands  me  on  the  forehead,  breaks  my  sword, 
Or  lays  the  bloody  scourge  upon  my  back. 
Wrongs  me  not  half  so  much  as  he  who  shuts 
The  gates  of  honor  on  me,  —  turning  out 
The  Roman  from  his  birthright;  and  for  what? 

To  fling  your  offices  to  every  slave  ! 
Vipers,  that  creep  where  man  disdains  to  climb, 
And,  having  wound  their  loathsome  track  to  the  top 
Of  this  huge,  mouldering  monument  of  Rome, 
Hang  hissing  at  the  nobler  man  below. 

Come,  consecrated  Lictors,  from  your  thrones ; 

{To  the  Senate. 
Fling  down  your  sceptres ;  take  the  rod  and  axe, 
And  make  the  murder  as  you  make  the  law. 

Banished  from  Rome !     What's  banished,  but  set  free 
From  daily  contact  of  the  things  I  loathe? 
''  Tried  and  convicted  traitor  !  "     Who  says  this? 
Who'll  prove  it,  at  his  peril,  on  my  head? 
Banished  !     I  thank  you  for't.     It  breaks  my  chain ! 
I  held  some  slack  allegiance  till  this  hour ; 


ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS.  275 

But  now  my  sword's  my  own.     Smile  on,  my  Lords! 

I  scorn  to  count  what  feelings,  withered  hopes, 

Strong  provocations,  bitter,  burning  wrongs, 

I  have  within  my  heart's  hot  cells  shut  up, 

To  leave  you  in  your  lazy  dignities. 

Bit  here  I  stand  and  scoff  you  !   here  I  fling 

Hatred  and  full  defiance  in  your  face  ! 

Your  Consul's  merciful;  —  for  this,  all  thanks. 

He  dares  not  touch  a  hair  of  Catiline  ! 

''  Traitor  !  "     I  go  ;  but,  I  return  !     This  —  trial ! 
Here  I  devote  your  Senate  !     I've  had  wrongs 
To  stir  a  fever  in  the  blood  of  age, 
Or  make  the  infant's  sinews  strong  as  steel. 
This  day's  the  birth  of  sorrow  ;  this  hour's  work 
Will  breed  proscriptions  !    Look  to  your  hearths,  my  Lords ! 
For  there,  henceforth,  shall  sit,  for  household  gods, 
Shapes  hot  from  Tartarus  ;  all  shames  and  crimes ; 
Wan  Treachery,  with  his  thirsty  dagger  drawn ; 
Suspicion,  poisoning  his  brother's  cup  ; 
Naked  Rebellion,  with  the  torch  and  axe, 
Making  his  wild  sport  of  your  blazing  thrones ; 
Till  Anarchy  comes  down  on  you  like  night, 
And  Massacre  seals  Rome's  eternal  grave 

I  go ;  but  not  to  leap  the  gulf  alone. 
I  go  ;  but  when  I  come,  'twill  be  the  burst 
Of  ocean  in  the  earthquake,  —  rolling  back 
In  swift  and  mountainous  ruin.     Fare  you  well! 
You  build  my  funeral-pile ;  but  your  best  blood 
Shall  quench  its  flame  !     Back,  slaves  ! 
I  will  return.  George  Croly. 


276  ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS. 


RESIGNATION. 

There  is  no  flock,  however  watched  and  tended, 

But  one  dead  lamb  is  there  ! 
There  is  no  fireside  howsoe'er  defended, 

But  has  one  vacant  chair  ! 

The  air  is  full  of  farewells  to  the  dying; 

And  mournings  for  the  dead  ; 
The  heart  of  Rachel,  for  her  children  crying, 

Will  not  be  comforted ! 

Let  us  be  patient !     These  severe  afflictions 

Not  from  the  ground  arise, 
But  oftentimes  celestial  benedictions 

Assume  this  dark  disguise. 

We  see  but  dimly  through  the  mists  and  vapors; 

Amid  these  earthly  damps 
What  seem  to  us  but  sad,  funereal  tapers 

May  be  heaven's  distant  lamps. 

There  is  no  Death  !    What  seems  so  is  transition; 

This  life  of  mortal  breath 
Is  but  a  suburb  of  the  life  clysian. 

Whose  portal  we  call  Death. 

She  is  not  dead,  —  the  child  of  our  affection,  — 

But  gone  unto  that  school 
Where  she  no  longer  needs  our  poor  protection, 

And  Christ  himself  doth  rule. 

In  that  great  cloister's  stillness  and  seclusion, 

By  guardian  angels  led. 
Safe  from  temptation,  safe  from  sin's  pollution, 

She  lives  whom  we  call  dead. 

Day  after  day  we  think  what  she  is  doing 

In  those  bright  realms  of  air ; 
Year  after  year,  her  tender  steps  pursuing, 

Behold  her  grown  more  fair. 


ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS.  277 

Thus  do  we  walk  with  her,  and  keep  unbroken 

The  bond  which  nature  gives, 
Thinking  that  our  remembrance,  though  unspoken. 

May  reach  her  where  she  lives. 

Not  as  a  child  shall  we  again  behold  her; 

For  when  with  raptures  wild 
In  our  embraces  we  again  enfold  her 

She  will  not  be  a  child  ; 

But  a  fair  maiden,  in  her  Father's  mansion, 

Clothed  with  celestial  grace  ; 
And  beautiful  with  all  the  soul's  expansion 

Shall  we  behold  her  face. 

And  though  at  times  impetuous  with  emotion 

And  anguish  long  suppressed, 
The  swelling  heart  heaves  moaning  like  the  ocean. 

That  cannot  be  at  rest,  — 

We  will  be  patient,  and  assuage  the  feeling 

We  may  not  wholly  stay ; 
By  silence  sanctifying,  not  concealing, 

The  grief  that  must  have  way. 

Longfellow. 


WAX   WORK. 


Once  on  a  time,  some  years  ago, 

Two  Yankees,  from  Connecticut, 
Were  travelling,  —  on  foot  of  course, 

A  style  now  out  of  date  ; 
And,  being  far  away  down  South, 

It  wasn't  strange  or  funny, 
That  they,  like  other  folks,  sometimes 

Should  be  out  of  money. 


278  ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS. 

So,  coming  to  a  thriving  place, 

They  hired  a  lofty  hall, 
And  on  the  corners  of  the  streets 

Put  handbills,  great  and  small. 
Telling  the  people,  far  and  near, 

In  printed  black  and  white, 
They'd  give  a  shovv^  of  w^ax  work 

In  the  great  town-hall  that  night. 

Of  course  the  people  thought  to  see 

A  show,  of  figures  grand,  — 
Napoleon,  Byron,  George  the  Third, 

And  great  men  of  our  land,  — 
Of  Mary,  Queen  of  Scots  you  know, 

And  monks  in  black  and  white, 
Heroes,  peasants,  potentates. 

In  "  wax  work  '*  brought  to  light. 

One  of  the  Yankees  had,  they  say, 

No  palate  to  his  mouth. 
And  this,  perhaps,  the  reason  was 

Why  he  was  going  South  ; 
Be  that  as  it  may,  —  you  see 

He  couldn't  speak  quite  plain, 
But  talked  with  much  obscurity, 

And  sotnetimes  talked  —  in  vain. 

The  other  was  a  handsome  man, 

Qiiite  pleasant,  and  quite  fine ; 
He  had  a  form  of  finest  mould. 

And  straight  as  any  pine. 
Indeed,  he  was  a  handsome  man 

As  you  will  often  see. 
Much  more  so  than  you,  —  or  you,  —  or  you,  • 

But  like  President  Grant,  —  or  me. 

This  handsome  man  stood  at  the  door 

To  let  the  people  in, 
And  the  way  he  took  the  quarters 

And  the  shillings  was  a  sin  : 


I 

4 


ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS.  279 

And  when  the  time  of  show  had  come, 

He  a  curtain  pulled  aside, 
And  our  friend  without  a  palate, 

Stood  in  all  his  pomp  and  pride. 

And  in  his  brawny  hand  he  held 

A  pound  or  two,  or  more. 
Of  shoemaker's  wax,  which  he 

Had  some  time  made  before. 
He  began  to  work  it, 

And  his  audience  thus  addressed. 
And  the  people  looked  and  listened  ;  — 

Let  their  great  surprise  be  guessed  ! 

Said  he,  ^'My  friends,  how  some  folks  cheat, 

I  never  could  conceive  ; 
But  this  is  the  real  wax  work, 

For  I  stoop  not  to  deceive : 
This  is  your  real  wax  work. 

For  your  quarters  and  your  twelves  ;  — 
Ladies  and  gentlemen,  just  walk  up 

And  examine  for  yourselves  !  " 

But  when  the  people  saw  the  joke. 

With  anger  they  turned  pale, 
Hammer  and  tongs  they  came  at  him, 

To  ride  him  on  a  rail ; 
But  he  had  an  open  window, 

And  0  ladder  to  the  ground. 
And  just  as  he  went  out  of  sight, 

He  turned  himself  around, 

And  holding  up  the  wax  to  view. 

Said,  with  a  saucy  grin, 
"  My  friends  here's  no  deception, 

For  I  scorn  to  take  you  in  ; 
This  is  real  wax  work. 

For  your  quarters  and  your  twelves  ;  — 

Ladies  and  gentlemen,  please  walk  up 

And  examine  for  \^ourselves." 

Anonymous. 


280  ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS. 


ZENOBIA'S  AMBITION. 

\ 

I  AM  charged  with  pride  and  ambition.  The  charge  is 
true,  and  I  glory  in  its  truth.  Who  ever  achieved  anything 
great  in  letters,  arts,  or  arms,  who  was  not  ambitious? 
Caesar  was  not  more  ambitious  than  Cicero.  It  was  but  i:i 
another  way.  Let  the  ambition  be  a  noble  one,  and  who 
shall  blame  it?  I  confess  I  did  once  aspire  to  be  queen,  not 
only  of  Palmyra,  but  of  the  East.  That  I  am.  I  now 
aspire  to  remain  so.  Is  it  not  an  honorable  ambition?  Does 
it  not  become  a  descendant  of  the  Ptolemies  and  of  Cleo- 
patra ? 

I  am  applauded  by  you  all  for  what  I  have  already  done. 
You  would  not  it  should  have  been  less.  But  why  pause 
here?  Is  so  much  ambition  praisew^orthy,  and  more  crimi- 
nal? Is  it  fixed  in  nature  that  the  limits  of  this  empire 
should  be  Egypt,  on  the  one  hand,  the  Hellespont  and  the 
Euxine,  on  the  other?  Were  not  Suez  and  Armenia  more 
natural  limits?  Or  hath  empire  no  natural  limit,  but  is 
broad  as  the  genius  that  can  devise,  and  the  power  that  can 
win  ? 

Rome  lias  the  West.  Let  Palmyra  possess  the  East.  Not 
that  nature  prescribes  this  and  no  more.  The  gods  prosper- 
ing, and  I  swear  not  that  the  Mediterranean  shall  hem  me 
in  upon  the  west,  or  Persia  on  the  east.  Longinus  is  right, 
—  I  would  that  the  world  were  mine.  I  feel,  within,  the 
will  and  the  power  to  bless  it,  were  it  so. 

Are  not  my  people  happy?  I  look  upon  the  past  and  the 
present,  upon  my  nearer  and  remoter  subjects,  and  ask,  nor 
fear  the  answer.  Whom  have  I  wronged? — What  prov- 
ince have  I  oppressed?  What  city  pillaged?  What  region 
drained  with  taxes?  Whose  life  have  I  imjustly  taken,  or 
estates  coveted  or  robbed?  Whose  honor  have  I  wantonly 
assailed  ?  Whose  rights,  though  of  the  weakest  and  poorest, 
have  I  trenched  upon?     I  dwell,  where  I  would  ever  dwell, 


ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS.  281 

in  the  hearts  of  my  people.  It  is  written  in  your  faces,  that 
I  reign  not  more  over  you  than  within  you.  The  foundation 
of  my  throne  is  not  more  power  than  love. 

Suppose,  now,  my  ambition  add  another  province  to  our 
realm.  Is  it  an  evil.^  The  kingdoms  already  bound  to  us 
Ijy  the  joint  acts  of  ourself  and  the  late  royal  Odenatus,  we 
found  discordant  and  at  war.  They  are  now  united  and  at 
peace.  One  harmonious  whole  has  grown  out  of  hostile 
and  sundered  parts.  At  my  hands  they  receive  a  common 
justice  and  equal  benefits.  The  channels  of  their  commerce 
have  I  opened,  and  dug  them  deep  and  sure.  Prosperity  and 
plenty  are  in  all  their  borders.  The  streets  of  our  capital 
bear  testimony  to  the  distant  and  various  industry  which  here 
seeks  its  market. 

This  is  no  vain  boasting  :  —  receive  it  not  so,  good  friends. 
It  is  but  truth.  He  who  traduces  himself,  sins  with  him  who 
traduces  another.  He  who  is  unjust  to  himself,  or  less  than 
just,  breaks  a  law,  as  well  as  he  who  hurts  his  neighbor.  I 
tell  you  what  I  am,  and  what  I  have  done,  that  your  trust 
for  the  future  may  not  rest  upon  ignorant  grounds.  If  I  am 
more  than  just  to  myself,  rebuke  me.  If  I  have  overstepped 
the  modesty  that  became  me,  I  am  open  to  your  censure,  and 
will  bear  it. 

But  I   have  spoken,  that  you   may  know  your  queen,  — 

not  only  by  her  acts,  but  by  her  admitted  principles.     I  tell 

you  then  that  I  am  ambitious,  —  that  I  crave  dominion,  and 

while   I    live   will   reign.     Sprung   from    a   line  of  kings,  a 

throne  is  my  natural   seat.     I  love  it.     But  I  strive,  too,  — 

you  can  bear  me  witness  that  I  do,  —  that  it  shall  be,  while 

I  sit  upon  it,  an  honored,  unpolluted   seat.     If  I  can,  I  will 

hang  a  yet  brighter  glory  around  it. 

William  Ware. 


L 


282  ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS. 


THE  FORGING   OF  THE  ANCHOR. 

Come,  see  the  Dolphin's  anchor  forged  ;  *tis  at  a  white  heat 

now  ; 
The  bellows  ceased,  the  flames  decreased  ;  though  on  the 

forge's  brow 
The  little  flames  still  fitfully  play  through  the  sable  mound  ; 
And  fitfully  you  still  may  see  the  grim  smiths  ranking  round, 
All  clad  in  leathern  panoply,  their  broad  hands  only  bare  ; 
Some  rest  upon  their  sledges  here,  some  work  the  windlass 

there. 

The  windlass  strains  the  tackle-chains,  the  black  mound 
heaves  below. 

And  red  and  deep  a  hundred  veins  burst  out  at  every  throe  ; 

It  rises,  roars,  rends  all  outright  —  O  Vulcan,  what  a  glow  ! 

'Tis  blinding  white,  'tis  blasting  bright;  the  high  sun  shines 
not  so ; 

The  high  sun  sees  not,  on  the  earth,  such  fiery,  fearful  show  ; 

The  roof-ribs  swarth,  the  candent  hearth,  the  ruddy,  lurid 
row 

Of  smiths,  that  stand,  an  ardent  band,  like  men  before  the 
foe ; 

As,  quivering  through  his  fleece  of  flame,  the  sailing  mon- 
ster slow 

Sinks  on  the  anvil  —  all  about  the  faces  fiery  grow  — 

"  Hurrah  !  "  they  shout ;  "  leap  out !  leap  out !  "  bang,  bang, 
the  sledges  go. 

Leap  out,  leap  out,  my  masters  ;  leap  out  and  lay  on  load  ! 
Let's  forge  a  goodly  anchor,  a  bower,  thick  and  broad ; 
For  a  heart  of  oak  is  hanging  on  every  blow,  I  bode. 
And  I  see  the  good  ship  riding,  all  in  a  perilous  road  ; 
The  low  reef  roaring  on  her  lee,  the  roll  of  ocean  poured 
From   stem   to   stern,  sea  after   sea,  the    mainmast   by  the 
board ; 


ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS. 


283 


The  bulwarks  down,  tlie  rudder  gone,  the  boats  stove  at  the 
chains ; 

But  courage  still,  brave  mariners,  the  bower  yet  remains, 

And  not  an  inch  to  flinch  he  deigns  save  when  ye  pitch  sky- 
high, 

Then  moves  his  head,  as  though  he  said,  ''  Fear  nothing  — - 
here  am  I !  " 

Swing  in  your  strokes  in  order,  let  foot  and  hand  keep  time  ; 
Your  blows  make  music  sweeter  far  than  any  steeple's  chime  ; 
But  while  ye  swing  your  sledges,  sing  ;  and  let  the  burden  be, 
The  anchor  is  the  anvil  king,  and  royal  craftsmen  we. 
Strike  in,  strike  in  ;  the   sparks  begin  to  dull  their  rustling 

red  ; 
Our  hammers   ring  with  sharper  din,  our  work  will  soon  be 

sped ; 

jOur  anchor  soon  must  change  his  bed  of  fiery  rich  array, 
[For  a  hammock  at  the  roaring  bows,  or  an  oozy  couch  of 

clay; 
I  Our  anchor  soon   must   change  the  lay  of  merry  craftsmen 

here, 

I  For  the  Yeo-heave-o,  and  the  Heave  away,  and  the  sighing 
seaman's  cheer. 

;  In  livid  and  obdurate  gloom,  he  darkens  down  at  last, 
A  shapely  one  he  is,  and  strong,  as  e'er  from  cat  was  cast. 
A  trusted  and  trustworthy  guard,  if  thou  hadst  life  like  mc, 

1  What   pleasures  would   thy  toils  reward  beneath  the  deep- 
green  sea  ! 

O  deep-sea  diver,  who  might  then  behold  such  sights  as  thou  ? 
[The  hoary  monster's  palaces!  methinks  what  joy  'twere  now 
[To   go   plump,  plunging   down    amid  the   assembly  of  the 

whales, 

|And  feel  the  churned  sea  round  me  boil  beneath  their  scourg- 
ing tails  ! 
Then  deep  in  tangle  woods  to  fight  the  fierce  sea-unicorn, 
knd  send  him    foiled    and    bellowing  back,  for  all  his  ivory 
horn  ; 


284  ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS. 

To  leave  the  subtle  sworder-fish,  of  bony  blade  forlorn, 
And   for   the   ghastly  grinning  shark,  to  laugh    his  jaws  to 
scorn. 

O  broad-armed  fisher  of  the  deep,  whose  sports  can  equal 

thine? 
The  Dolphin  weighs  a  thousand  tons,  that  tugs  thy  cable  line  ; 
And  night  by  night  'tis  thy  delight,  thy  glory  day  by  day, 
Through  sable  sea  and  breaker  white,  the  giant  game  to  ph»\  ; 
But,  shamer  of  our  little  sports,  forgive  the  name  1  gave  ; 
A  fisher's  joy  is  to  destroy  —  thine  office  is  to  save. 

O  lodger  in  the  sea-king's  halls,  couldst  thou  but  understand 
Whose  be  the  white  bones  by  thy  side,  or  who  that  dripping 

band, 
Slow  swaying  in  the  heaving  wave,  that  round  about  thee 

bend. 
With  sounds  like  breakers  in  a  dream,  blessing  their  ancient 

friend  ; 
Oh,  couldst  thou  know  what  heroes  glide  with  larger  steps 

round  thee, 
Thine  iron  side  would  swell  with  pride,  thou'dst  leap  within 

the  sea ! 

Give  honor  to  their  memories,  who  left  the  pleasant  strand 
To  shed  their  blood  so  freely  for  the  love  of  Fatherland  — 
Who  left  their  chance  of  quiet  age  and  grassy  churchyard 

grave 
So  freely  for  a  restless  bed  amid  the  tossing  wave  — 
Oh,  though  our  anchor  may  not  be  all  I  have  fondly  sung, 
Honor  him  for  their  memory,  whose  bones  he  goes  among  ! 

Samuel  Ferguson. 


ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS.  285 


TACT  AND   TALENT 

Talent  is  something,  but  tact  is  everything.  Talent  is 
serious,  sober,  grave,  and  respectable  :  tact  is  all  that,  and 
more  too.  It  is  not  a  sixth  sense,  but  it  is  the  life  of  all 
the  five.  It  is  the  open  eye,  the  quick  ear,  the  judging 
taste,  the  keen  smell,  and  the  lively  touch  ;  it  is  the  inter- 
preter of  all  riddles,  the  surmounter  of  all  difficulties,  the 
remover  of  all  obstacles.  It  is  useful  in  all  places,  and  at 
all  times;  it  is  useful  in  solitude,  for  it  show^s  a  man  his 
way  into  the  world  ;  it  is  useful  in  society,  for  it  shows  him 
his  way  through  the  world. 

Talent  is  power,  tact  is  skill  ;  talent  is  weight,  tact  is  mo- 
mentum ;  talent  knows  what  to  do,  tact  knows  how  to  do  it ; 
talent  makes  a  man  respectable,  tact  will  make  him  respected  ; 
talent  is  wealth,  tact  is  ready  money. 

For  all  the  practical  purposes  of  life,  tact  carries  it  against 
talent,  ten  to  one.  Take  them  to  the  theatre,  and  put  them 
against  each  other  on  the  stage,  and  talent  shall  produce 
you  a  tragedy  that  will  scarcely  live  long  enough  to  be  con- 
demned, while  tact  keeps  the  house  in  a  roar,  night  after 
night,  with  its  successful  farces.  There  is  no  want  of  dra- 
matic talent,  there  is  no  want  of  dramatic  tact ;  but  they  are 
seldom  together :  so  we  have  successful  pieces  which  are  not 
respectable,  and  respectable  pieces  which  are  not  successful. 

Take  them  to  the  bar,  and  let  them  shake  their  learned 
curls  at  each  other  in  legal  rivalry.  Talent  sees  its  way 
clearly,  but  tact  is  first  at  its  journey's  end.  Talent  has 
many  a  compliment  from  the  bench,  but  tact  touches  fees 
from  attorneys  and  clients.  Talent  speaks  learnedly  and 
logically,  tact  triumphantly.  Talent  makes  the  world  won- 
der that  it  gets  on  no  faster,  tact  excites  astonishment  that  it 
gets  on  so  fast.  And  the  secret  is,  that  tact  has  no  weight 
to  carry  ;  it  makes  no  false  steps  ;  it  hits  the  right  nail  on  the 
head;  it  loses  no  time;   it  takes  all  hints;   and,  by  keeping 


286  ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS, 

its  eye  on  the  weathercock,  is  ready  to  take  advantage  of 
every  wind  that  blows. 

Take  them  into  the  church.  Talent  has  always  something 
worth  hearing,  tact  is  sure  of  abundance  of  hearers ;  talent 
may  obtain  a  living,  tact  will  make  one  ;  talent  gets  a  good 
name,  tact  a  great  one  ;  talent  convinces,  tact  converts ;  tal- 
ent is  an  honor  to  the  profession,  tact  gains  honor  from  the 
profession. 

Take  them  to  court.  Talent  feels  its  weight,  tact  finds  its 
way  ;  talent  commands,  tact  is  obeyed  ;  talent  is  honored  with 
approbation,  and  tact  is  blessed  by  preferment. 

Place  them  in  the  senate.  Talent  has  the  ear  of  the  house, 
but  tact  wins  its  heart,  and  has  its  votes  ;  talent  is  fit  for  em- 
ployment, but  tact  is  fitted  for  it.  Tact  has  a  knack  of 
slipping  into  place  with  a  sweet  silence  and  glibness  of  move- 
ment, as  a  billiard-ball  insinuates  itself  into  the  pocket.  It 
seems  to  know  everything,  without  learning  anything.  It 
has  served  an  invisible  and  extemporary  apprenticeship  ;  it 
wants  no  drilling  ;  it  never  ranks  in  the  awkward  squad  ;  it 
has  no  left  hand,  no  deaf  ear,  no  blind  side.  It  puts  on  no 
looks  of  wondrous  wisdom,  it  has  no  air  of  profundity,  but 
plays  with  the  details  of  place  as  dexterously  as  a  well-taught 
hand  flourishes  over  the  keys  of  the  piano-forte.  It  has  all  the 
air  of  commonplace,  and  all  the  force  and  power  of  genius. 

London  Atlas. 


THE  REVOLUTIONARY  RISING. 

Out  of  the  North  the  wild  news  came, 
Far  flashing  on  its  wings  of  flame. 
Swift  as  the  boreal  light  which  flies 
At  midnight  through  the  startled  skies. 
And  there  was  tumult  in  the  air. 

The  fife's  shrill  note,  the  drum's  loud  beat. 
And  through  the  wide  land  everywhere 

The  answ^ering  tread  of  hurrying  feet ; 


ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS.  287 

While  the  first  oath  of  Freedom's  gun 
Came  on  the  blast  from  Lexington  ; 
And  Concord  roused,  no  longer  tame, 
Forgot  her  old  baptismal  name, 
Made  bare  her  patriot  arm  of  power, 
And  swelled  the  discord  of  the  hour. 

Within  its  shade  of  elm  and  oak 

The  church  of  Berkley  Manor  stood  ; 
There  Sunday  found  the  rural  folk, 

And  some  esteemed  of  gentle  blood. 

In  vain  their  feet  with  loitering  tread 
Passed  mid  the  graves  where  rank  is  naught ; 
All  could  not  read  the  lesson  taught 

In  that  republic  of  the  dead. 

How  sweet  the  hour  of  Sabbath  talk. 
The  vale  with  peace  and  sunshine  full, 

Where  all  the  happy  people  walk, 

Decked  in  their  homespun  flax  and  wool, 
Where  youth's  gay  hats  with  blossoms  bloom  ; 

And  every  maid,  with  simple  art. 

Wears  on  her  breast,  like  her  own  heart, 
A  bud  whose  depths  are  all  perfume ; 

While  every  garment's  gentle  stir 

Is  breathing  rose  and  lavender. 

The  pastor  came  ;  his  snowy  locks 

Hallowed  his  brow  of  thought  and  care ; 

And  calmly,  as  shepherds  lead  their  flocks. 
He  led  into  the  house  of  prayer. 

Then  soon  he  rose  ;  the  prayer  w^as  strong ; 

The  psalm  was  warrior  David's  song ; 

The  text,  a  few  short  words  of  might : 

"  The  Lord  of  hosts  shall  arm  the  right ! " 

He  spoke  of  wrongs  too  long  endured, 

Of  sacred  rights  to  be  secured  ; 


288  ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS. 

Then  from  his  patriot  tongue  of  flame 
The  startling  words  for  Freedom  came. 
The  stirring  sentences  he  spake 
Compelled  the  heart  to  glow  or  quake. 
And,  rising  on  his  theme's  broad  wing, 

And  grasping  in  his  nervous  hand 

The  imaginary  battle-brand, 
In  face  of  death  he  dared  to  fling 
Defiance  to  a  tyrant-king. 

Even  as  he  spoke,  his  frame,  renewed 
In  eloquence  of  attitude. 
Rose,  as  it  seemed,  a  shoulder  higher ; 
Then  swept  his  kindling  glance  of  fire 
From  startled  pew  to. breathless  choir; 
When  suddenly  his  mantle  wide 
His  hands  impatient  flung  aside. 
And,  lo  !  he  met  their  wondering  eyes 
Complete  in  all  a  warrior*s  guise. 

A  moment  there  was  awful  pause  — 

When  Berkley  cried,  "  Cease,  traitor  !  cease  ; 

God's  temple  is  the  house  of  peace !  " 

The  other  shouted,  ''  Nay,  not  so, 
When  God  is  with  our  righteous  cause ; 
His  holiest  places  then  are  ours, 
His  temples  are  our  forts  and  towers 

That  frown  upon  the  tyrant  foe ; 
In  this,  the  dawn  of  Freedom's  day, 
There  is  a  time  to  fight  and  pray !  " 

And  now  before  the  open  door  — 

The  warrior  priest  had  ordered  so  — 
The  enlisting  trumpet's  sudden  roar 
Rang  through  the  chapel,  o'er  and  o'er, 

Its  long  reverberating  blow, 
So  loud  and  clear,  it  seemed  the  ear 
Of  dusty  Death  must  wake  and  hear. 


ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS.  289 

And  there  the  startling  drum  and  fife 
Fired  the  liviug  with  fiercer  life  ; 
While  overhead,  with  wild  increase, 
Forgetting  its  ancient  toll  of  peace, 

The  great  bell  swung  as  ne'er  before. 
It  seemed  as  it  would  never  cease  ; 
And  every  word  its  ardor  flung 
From  oft"  its  jubilant  iron  tongue 

Was  "War  !   war!,  war!" 

"Who  dares"  —  this  was  the  patriot's  cry, 
As  striding  from  the  desk  he  came  — 
"  Come  out  with  me,  in  Freedom's  name, 

For  her  to  live,  for  her  to  die?  " 

A  hundred  hands  flung  up  reply, 

A  hundred  voices  answered,  "  I  !  " 

Thomas  Buchanan  Read. 


A    TRIBUTE    TO   OUR  HONORED  DEAD. 

How  bright  are  the  honors  which  await  those  who,  with 
sacred  fortitude  and  patriotic  patience,  have  endured  all  things 
that  they  might  save  their  native  land  from  division,  and  from 
the  power  of  corruption.  The  honored  dead  1  They  that  die 
for  a  good  cause  are  redeemed  from  death.  Their  names  are 
gathered  and  garnered.  Their  memory  is  precious.  Each 
place  grows  proud  for  them  who  were  born  there.  There  is 
to  be,  ere  long,  in  every  village,  and  in  every  neighborhood, 
a  glowing  pride  in  its  martyred  heroes.  Tablets  shall  pre- 
serve their  names.  Pious  love  shall  renew  their  inscriptions 
as  time  and  the  unfeeling  elements  efface  them.  And  the 
national  festivals  shall  give  multitudes  of  precious  names  to 
the  orator's  lips.  Children  shall  grow  up  under  more  sacred 
inspirations,  whose  elder  brothers,  dying  nobly  for  their  coun- 
try, left  a  name  that  honored  and  inspired  all  who, bore  it. 
Orphan  children  shall  find  thousands  of  fathers  and  mothers 

19 


'^90  ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS. 

to  love  and  help  those  whom  dying  heroes  left  as  a  legacy  to 

the  gi:ititndc  of  the  public. 

Oh,  tell   me  not  that  they  are  dead  —  that  generous  host, 

that  airy  army  of  invisible  heroes.     They  hover  as  a  cloud 

of  witnesses  above  this  nation.     Are  they  dead  that  yet  speak 

louder  than  we  can  speak,  and  a  more  universal  language? 

Are  they  dead  that  yet  act?     Are  they  dead  that  yet  move 

upon  society,  and  inspire  the  people  with  nobler  motives  and 

more  heroic  patriotism  ? 

Henry  Ward  Beecher. 


DARIUS  GREEN  AND  HIS  FLYING-MACHINE. 

If  ever  there  lived  a  Yankee  lad, 
Wise  or  otherwise,  good  or  bad, 
Who,  seeing  the  birds  fly,  didn't  jump 
With  flapping  arms  froin  stake  or  stump, 

Or,  spreading  the  tail 

Of  his  coat  for  a  sail, 
Take  a  soaring  leap  from  poster  rail, 

And  wonder  why 

He  couldn't  fly. 
And  flap  and  flutter  and  wish  and  try  — 
If  ever  you  knew  a  country  dunce 
Who  didn't  try  that  as  often  as  once. 
All  I  can  say  is,  that's  a  sign 
He  never  would  do  for  a  hero  of  mine. 

An  aspiring  genius  was  D.  Green: 
The  son  of  a  farmer  —  age  fourteen  ; 
His  body  was  long  and  lank  and  lean  — 
Just  right  for  flying,  as  will  be  seen; 
He  had  two  eyes  as  bright  as  a  bean. 
And  a  freckled  nose  that  grew  between. 


ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS.  291 

A  little  awry  —  for  I  must  mention 

That  he  had  riveted  his  attention 

Upon  his  wonderful  invention, 

Twisting  his  tongue  as  he  twisted  the  strings, 

And  working  his  face  as  he  worked  the  wings, 

And  with  every  turn  of  gimlet  and  screw 

Turning  and  screwing  his  mouth  round  too, 

Till  his  nose  seemed  bent 

To  catch  the  scent, 
Around  some  corner,  of  new-baked  pies, 
And  his  wrinkled  cheeks  and  his  squinting  eyes 
Grew  puckered  into  a  queer  grimace, 
That  made  him  look  very  droll  in  the  face, 

And  also  very  wise. 
And  wise  he  must  have  been,  to  do  more 
Than  ever  a  genius  did  before. 
Excepting  Daedalus  of  yore 
And  his  son  Icarus,  who  wore 

Upon  their  backs 

Those  wings  of  wax 
He  had  read  of  in  the  old  almanacs. 
Darius  was  clearly  of  the  opinion. 
That  the  air  is  also  man's  dominion, 
And  that,  with  paddle  or  fin  or  pinion, 

We  soon  or  late  shall  navigate 
The  azure  as  now  we  sail  the  sea. 
The  thing  looks  simple  enough  to  me; 

And  if  you  doubt  it, 
Hear  how  Darius  reasoned  about  it. 

*'  The  birds  can  fly  an'  why  can't  I? 

Must  we  give  in,"  says  he  with  a  grin, 

''  That  the  bluebird  an'  phoebe 
Are  smarter  'n  we  be  ? 
Jest  fold  our  hands  an'  see  the  swaller 
An'  blackbird  an'  catbird  beat  us  holler? 
Does  the  little  chatterin',  sassy  wren. 
No  bigger 'n  my  thumb,  know  more  than  men? 


292  ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS. 

Jest  show  me  that ! 

Ur  prove  't  the  bat 
Hez  got  more  brains  than's  in  my  hat, 
An'  ril  back  down,  an'  not  till  then  !  " 
He  argued  further  :  "  Nur  I  can't  see 
What's  th'  use  o'  wings  to  a  bumble-bee, 
Fur  to  git  a  livin'  with,  more'n  to  me ;  — 

Ain't  my  business 

Important 's  his'n  is? 

That  Icarus 

Made  a  perty  muss  — 
Him  an'  his  daddy  Daedalus 
They  might 'a'  knowed  wings  made  o'  wax 
Wouldn't  stand  sun-heat  an'  hard  whacks. 

I'll  make  mine  o'  hither, 

Ur  suthin'  ur  other." 

And  he  said  to  himself,  as  he  tinkered  and  planned: 

"  But  I  ain't  goin'  to  show  my  hand 

To  numniies  that  never  can  understand 

The  fust  idee  that's  big  and  grand." 

So  he  kept  his  secret  from  all  the  rest. 

Safely  buttoned  within  his  vest; 

And  in  the  loft  above  the  shed 

Himself  he  locks,  with  thimble  and  thread 

And  wax  and  hammer  and  buckles  and  screws 

And  all  such  things  as  geniuses  use ;  — 

Two  bats  for  patterns,  curious  fellows ! 

A  charcoal-pot  and  a  pair  of  bellow^s  ; 

Some  wire,  and  several  old  umbrellas; 

A  carriage-cover,  for  tail  and  wings ; 

A  piece  of  harness  ;   and  straps  and  strings  ; 

And  a  big  strong  box. 

In  which  he  locks 
These  and  a  hundred  other  things. 
His  grinning  brothers,  Reuben  and  Burke 
And  Nathan  and  Jotham  and  Solomon,  lurk 


ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS.  293 

Around  the  corner  to  see  him  work  — 

Sitting  cross-legged,  h'ke  a  Turk, 

Drawing  the  waxed-end  through  with  a  jerk, 

And  boring  the  holes  with  a  comical  quirk 

Of  his  wise  old  head,  and  a  knowing  smirk. 

But  vainly  they  mounted  each  other's  backs. 

And  poked  through  knot-holes  and  pried  through  cracks  ; 

With  wood  from  the  pile  and  straw  from  the  stacks 

He  plugged  the  knot-holes  and  calked  the  cracks  ; 

And  a  dipper  of  water,  which  one  would  think 

He  had  brought  up  into  the  loft  to  drink 

When  lie  chanced  to  be  dry, 

Stood  always  nigh. 

For  Darius  was  sly  ! 
And  whenever  at  work  he  happened  to  spy 
At  chink  or  crevice  a  blinking  eye, 
He  let  tlie  dipper  of  water  fly. 
"  Take  that !  an'  ef  ever  ye  git  a  peep, 
Guess  ye'U  ketch  a  weasel  asleep !  " 

And  he  sings  as  he  locks 

His  big  strong  box  : — 

"  The  weasel's  head  is  small  an'  trim, 

An'  he  is  little  an'  long  an'  slim. 

An'  quick  of  motion  an'  nimble  of  limb, 

An'  ef  you'll  be 

Advised  by  me, 
Keep  wide  awake  when  ye  're  ketchin'  him !  " 

So  day  after  day 
He  stitched  and  tinkered  and  hammered  away, 

Till  at  last  'twas  done  — 
The  greatest  invention  under  the  sun  ! 
^'  An'  now,"  says  Darius,  "  hooray  fur  some  fun !  " 

'Twas  the  Fourth  of  July, 
And  the  weather  was  dry, 
And  not  a  cloud  was  on  all  the  sky, 


294  ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS. 

Save  a  few  light  fleeces,  which  here  and  there, 

Half  mist,  half  air, 
Like  foam  on  the  ocean  went  floating  by  — 
Just  as  lovely  a  morning  as  ever  was  seen 
For  a  nice  little  trip  in  a  flying- machine. 
Thought  cunning  Darius  :  ''  Now  I  shan't  go 
Along  'ith  the  fellers  to  see  the  show, 
ril  say  IVe  got  sich  a  terrible  cough  ! 
An'  then,  when  the  folks  'ave  all  gone  off*, 

ril  hev  full  swing  fur  to  try  the  thing, 
An'  practise  a  little  on  the  wing." 

"  Ain't  goin'  to  see  the  celebration?  " 
Says  brother  Nate.     ''  No  ;  botheration  ! 
I've  got  sich  a  cold  —  a  toothache  —  I  — 
My  gracious  !  —  feel's  though  I  should  fly  !  " 

Saidjotham,  '* 'Sho  ! 

Guess  ye  better  go." 

But  Darius  said,  ''  No  ! 
Shouldn't  wonder 'f  you  might  see  me,  though, 
'Long  'bout  noon,  ef  I  get  red 
O'  this  jumpin',  thumpin'  pain'n  my  head." 
For  all  the  while  to  himself  he  said :  — 

"  I  tell  ye  what ! 
I'll  fly  a  few  times  around  the  lot. 
To  see  how  't  seems,  then  soon  's  I  've  got 
The  hang  o'  the  thing,  ez  likely 's  not, 

I'll  astonish  the  nation. 

An'  all  creation, 
By  flyin'  over  the  celebration  ! 
Over  their  heads  I  '11  sail  like  an  eagle ; 
I'll  balance  myself  on  my  wings  like  a  sea-gull ; 
I'll  dance  on  the  chimbleys ;  I'll  stand  on  the  steeple ; 
I  '11  flop  up  to  winders  an'  scare  the  people  ! 
I'll  light  on  the  liberty-pole,  an'  crow ; 
Ah'  I'll  say  to  the  gawpin'  fools  below, 

*  What  world's  this  'ere 

That  I've  come  near? ' 


ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS.  29^ 

Fur  ril  make  'em  brieve  I'm  a  chap  f  m  the  moon ; 
An'  I'll  try  ii  race  'ith  their  oF  balloon  !  " 

He  crept  from  his  bed  ; 
And,  seeing  the  others  were  gone,  he  said, 
'^  I'm  gittin'  over  the  cold  'n  my  head." 

And  away  he  sped, 
To  open  the  wonderful  box  in  the  shed. 

His  brothers  had  walked  but  a  little  way. 

When  Jotham  to  Nathan  chanced  to  say, 

''  What  is  the  feller  up  to,  hey?" 

"  Don'o'  —  the'  's  suthin'  ur  other  to  pay, 

Ur  he  wouldn't  'a'  stayed  to  hum  to-day." 

Says  Burke,  "•  His  toothache  's  all  'n  his  eye  ! 

He  never 'd  miss  a  Fo'th-o'-July, 

Ef  he  hedn't  got  some  machine  to  try." 

Then  Sol,  the  little  one,  spoke  :  ''  By  darn ! 

Le's  hurry  back  an'  hide  'n  the  barn. 

An'  pay  him  fur  tell  in'  us  that  yarn  !  " 

"  Agreed  !  "     Through  the  orchard  they  creep  back. 

Along  by  the  fences,  behind  the  stack. 

And  one  by  one,  through  a  hole  in  the  wall, 

In  under  the  dusty  barn  they  crawl. 

Dressed  in  their  Sunday  garments  all  ; 

And  a  very  astonishing  sight  was  that, 

When  each  in  his  cobwebbed  coat  and  hat 

Came  up  through  the  floor  like  an  ancient  rat. 

And  there  they  hid  ; 

And  Reuben  slid 
The  fastenings  back,  and  the  door  undid. 

"  Keep  dark  !  "  said  he, 
''  While  I  squint  an'  see  what  the'  is  to  see. 

As  knights  of  old  put  on  their  mail  — 
From  head  to  foot  an  iron  suit, 
Iron  jacket  and  iron  boot. 


29G  ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS. 

Iron  breeches,  and  on  the  head 
No  hat,  but  an  iron  pot  instead, 

And  under  the  chin  the  bail, 
(I  believe  they  called  the  thing  a  helm,) 
Then  sallied  forth  to  overwhelm 
The  dragons  and  pagans  that  plagued  the  realm  — 

So  this  modern  knight 

Prepared  for  flight, 
Put  on  his  wings  and  strapped  them  tight  — 
Jointed  and  jaunty,  strong  and  light  — 
Buckled  them  fast  to  shoulder  and  hip  — 
Ten  feet  they  measured  from  tip  to  tip ! 
And  a  helm  had  he,  but  that  he  wore, 
Not  on  his  head,  like  those  of  yore, 

But  more  like  the  helm  of  a  ship, 

"  Hush  !  "  Reuben  said, 

"  He's  up  in  the  shed  ! 
He's  opened  the  winder  —  I  see  his  head  I 
He  stretches  it  out,  an'  pokes  it  about, 
Lookin'  to  see  'f  the  coast  is  clear. 

An'  nobody  near  ;  — 
Guess  he  don'o'  who 's  hid  in  here ! 
He's  riggin'  a  spring-board  over  the  sill ! 
Stop  laffin',  Solomon  !     Burke,  keep  still ! 
He's  a  climbin'  out  now  —  Of  all  the  things! 
What's  he  got  on?     I  van,  it's  wings ! 
An'  that  t'  other  thing?     I  vum,  it's  a  tail ! 
An'  there  he  sets  like  a  hawk  on  a  rail ! 
Steppin'  careful,  he  travels  the  length 
Of  his  spring-board,  and  teeters  to  try  its  strength. 
Now  he  stretches  his  wings,  like  a  monstrous  bat ; 
Peeks  over  his  shoulder,  this  way  an'  that. 
Fur  to  see  'f  the'  's  any  one  passin'  by 
But  the'  's  on'y  a  ca'f  an'  a  goslin'  nigh. 
They  turn  up  at  him  wonderin'  eye. 
To  see  —     The  dragon  !  he's  goin'  to  fly  ! 


ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS.  297 

Away  he  goes  !     Jimmiiiy  !  what  a  jump  ! 

Flop  —  flop  —  an'  plump 

To  the  ground  with  a  thump  ! 
Flutt'rin'  an'  flound'rin',  all  'n  a  lump !  " 
As  a  demon  is  hurled  by  an  angel's  spear, 
Heels  over  head,  to  his  proper  sphere  — 
Heels  over  head,  and  head  over  heels, 
Dizzily  down  the  abyss  he  wheels  — 
So  fell  Darius.     Upon  his  crown, 
In  the  midst  of  the  barn-yard,  he  came  down, 
In  a  wonderful  whirl  of  tangled  strings, 
Broken  braces  and  broken  springs, 
Broken  tail  and  broken  wings, 
Shooting-stars,  and  various  things  — 
Barn-yard  litter  of  straw  and  chaff', 
And  much  that  wasn't  so  sweet  by  half. 
Away  with  a  bellow  fled  the  calf. 
And  what  was  that?     Did  the  gosling  laugh? 
'Tis  a  merry  roar  from  the  old  barn-door, 
And  he  hears  the  voice  of  Jotham  crying, 
''  Say,  D'rius  !   how  do  you  like  flyin'?" 
Slowly,  ruefully,  where  he  lay, 
Darius  just  turned  and  looked  that  way. 
As  he  stanched  his  sorrowful  nose  with  his  cuffl 
"  VVal,  I  like  flyin'  well  enough," 
He  said  ;  "  but  the'  ain't  sich  a  thunderin'  sight 
O'  fun  in't  when  ye  come  to  light." 

I  just  have  room  for  the  moral  here : 

And  this  is  the  moral  —  Stick  to  your  sphere. 

Or  if  you  insist,  as  you  have  the  right. 

On  spreading  your  wings  for  a  loftier  flight. 

The  moral  is  —     Take  care  how  you  light. 

J.  T.  Trowbridge. 


298  ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS. 


SCENES  FROM  MACBETH. 

\_A  room  in  a  Castle.'] 
Macbeth.     If  it  were  done,  when  'tis  done,  then  'twere 
well 
It  were  done  quickly :    if  the  assassination 
Could  trammel  up  the  consequence,  and  catch, 
With  his  surcease,  success  ;  that  but  this  blow 
Might  be  the  be-all  and  the  end-all  here. 
But  here,  upon  this  bank  and  shoal  of  time, — 
We'd  jump  the  life  to  come.  —  But,  in  these  cases, 
We  still  have  judgment  here  ;  that  we  but  teach 
Bloody  instructions,  which,  being  taught,  return 
To  plague  the  inventor  :  this  even-handed  justice 
Commends  the  ingredients  of  our  poison'd  chalice 
To  our  own  lips.     He's  here  in  double  trust  : 
First,  as  I  am  his  kinsman  and  his  subject. 
Strong  both  against  the  deed  ;  then,  as  his  host, 
Who  should  against  his  murderer  shut  the  door, 
Not  bear  the  knife  myself.     Besides,  this  Duncan 
Hath  borne  his  faculties  so  meek,  hath  been 
So  clear  in  his  great  office,  that  his  virtues 
Will  plead  like  angels,  trumpet-tongued,  against 
The  deep  damnation  of  his  taking  off : 
And  pity,  like  a  naked  new-born  babe. 
Striding  the  blast,  or  Heaven's  cherubin,  horsed 
Upon  the  sightless  couriers  of  the  air. 
Shall  blow  the  horrid  deed  in  every  eye, 
That  tears  shall  drown  the  wind.  —  I  have  no  spur 
To  prick  the  sides  of  my  intent,  but  only 
Vaulting  ambition,  which  o'erleaps  itself. 
And  falls  on  the  other.  —  How  now,  what  news? 

Efiter  Lady  Macbeth. 
Lady  Macbeth,     He  has  almost  supp'd  :    why   have  you 
left  the  chamber? 


ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS. 


299 


Alacb,     Hath  he  asked  for  me? 

Lady  AI.     Know  you  not,  he  has? 

Macb.     We  will  proceed  no  farther  in  this  business; 
He  hath  honor'd  me  of  late  ;  and  I  have  bought 
Golden  opinions  from  all  sorts  of  people, 
Which  would  be  worn  now  in  their  newest  gloss, 
Not  cast  aside  so  soon. 

Lady  M.  Was  the  hope  drunk, 

Wherein  you  dressed  yourself?    hath  it  slept  since? 
And  wakes  it  now,  to  look  so  green  and  pale 
x\t  what  it  did  so  fieely?     From  this  time. 
Such  I  account  thy  love.     Art  thou  afear'd 
To  be  the  same  in  thine  own  act  rnd  valor. 
As  thou  art  in  desire?     W^ouldst  thou  have  that 
Which  thou  esteem'st  the  ornament  of  life, 
And  live  a  coward  in  thine  own  esteem  ; 
Letting  '  I  dare  not'  wait  upon  '  I  would,' 
Like  the  poor  cat  i'  the  adage? 

Macb.  Pr'ythee,  peace : 

I  dare  do  all  that  may  become  a  man  ; 
Who  dares  do  more,  is  none. 

Lady  AL  What  beast  was't  then, 

That  made  you  break  this  enterprise  to  me? 
When  you  durst  do  it,  then  you  were  a  man  ; 
And  to  be  more  than  what  you  were,  you  would 
Be  so  much  more  the  man.     Nor  time,  nor  place, 
Did  then  adhere,  and  yet  you  would  make  both  : 
They  have  made  themselves,  and  that  their  fitness  now 
Does  unmake  you. 

Alacb.     If  we  should  fail? 

Lady  AL  We  fail !    ' 

But  screw  your  courage  to  the  sticking  place, 
And  we'll  not  fail.     When  Duncan  is  asleep, 
(Whereto  the  rather  shall  his  day's  hard  journey 
Soundly  invite  him,)  his  two  chamberlains 
Will  I  with  wine  and  wassel  so  convince, 
(  That  memory,  the  warder  of  the  brain, 


300  ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS. 

Shall  be  a  fume,  and  the  receipt  of  reason 
A  limbeck  only.     When  in  swinish  sleep 
Their  clrcnchc;d  natures  lie,  as  in  a  death. 
What  c^aon<)t  you  and  I  perform  upon 
The  unguarded  Duncan?  what  not  put  upon 
His  spongy  officers,  who  shall  bear  the  guilt 
Of  our  great  quell? 

Macb.     Bring  forth  men-children  only  ; 
For  thy  undaunted  metal  should  compose 
Nothing  but  males.     Will  it  not  be  received, 
When  we  have  mark'd  with  blood  those  sleepy  two 
Of  his  own  chamber,  and  used  their  very  daggers, 
That  they  have  done't? 

Lady  M,  Who  dares  receive  it  other, 

As  we  shall  make  our  griefs  and  clamor  roar 
Upon  his  death? 

Macb.  I  am  settled,  and  bend  up 

Each  corporal  agent  to  this  terrible  feat. 
Away,  and  mock  the  time  with  fairest  show  ; 
False  face  must  hide  what  the  false  heart  doth  know. 

\^Exeunt 


SCENES  FROM  SAME, 

\_Court  within  the    Castle,] 

Enter  Banquo  and  Fleance,  and  a  Servant  with  a  torck 
before  them, 

Banquo,     How  goes  the  night,  boy  ? 

Pleance,     The  moon  is  down  ;  I  have  not  heard  the  cL  ck. 

Ban,     And  she  goes  down  at  twelve. 

Fie,     I  take 't,  'tis  later,  sir. 

Ban,     Hold,    take    my    sword.  —  There's    husbandry   in 
heaven. 
Their  candles  are  all  out.  —  Take  thee  that,  too. 
A  heavy  summons  lies  like  lead  upon  me, 


\ 


ADVANCED    Ri:AD1NGS    AND    RECITATIONS.  301 

And  yet  I  would  not  sleep.  Merciful  powers, 
Restrain  in  me  the  cursed  thoughts  that  nature 
Gives  way  to  in  repose  !  —  Give  me  my  sword  ;  — 

Enter  Macbeth,  and  a  Servant  with  a  torch, 

Who*s  there? 

Macb.  A  friend. 

Ban.     What,  sir,  not  yet  at  rest?     The  king's  abed  ; 
He  hath  been  in  unusual  pleasure,  and 
Sent  forth  great  largess  to  your  officers ; 
This  diamond  he  greets  your  wife  withal, 
I3y  the  name  of  most  kind  hostess  ;  and  shut  up 
In  measureless  content. 

Macb.  Being  unprepared, 

Our  will  became  the  servant  to  defect; 
Which  else  should  free  have  wrought. 

Ban.  All's  well. 

I  dreamt  last  night  of  the  three  weird  sisters, 
Vo  you  they  have  show'd  some  truth. 

Macb,  I  think  not  of  them: 

Yet,  when  we  can  entreat  an  hour  to  serve, 
We  would  spend  it  in  some  words  upon  that  business, 
If  you  would  grant  the  time. 

Ban.  At  your  kinds't  leisure. 

Macb.     If  you  shall  cleave  to  my  consent,  —  when  'tis, 
It  shall  make  honor  for  you. 

Ban.  So  I  lose  none, 

In  seeking  to  augment  it,  but  still  keep 
My  bosom  franchised,  and  allegiance  clear, 
I  shall  be  counseled. 

Macb.  Good  repose  the  while  ! 

Ban.     Thanks,  sir  ;  the  like  to  you  !  \_Exit  Banquo, 

Alacb.     Go,  bid  thy  mistress,  when  my  drink  is  ready, 
She  strike  upon  the  bell.     Get  thee  to  bed.  — 

\_Exit  Servant. 
Is  this  a  dagger  which  I  see  before  me, 

The  handle  toward  my  hand?    Com.e,  let  me  clutch  thee  :  — 
I  have  thee  not,  and  yet  I  see  thee  still. 


302  ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS. 

Art  thou  not,  fatal  vision,  sensible 

To  feeling,  as  to  sight?  or  art  thou  but 

A  dagger  of  the  mind  ;  a  false  creation, 

Proceeding  from  the  heat-oppressed  brain? 

I  see  thee  yet,  in  form  as  palpable 

As  this  which  now  I  draw. 

Thou  marshal'st  me  the  way  that  I  was  going, 

And  such  an  instrument  I  was  to  use. 

Mine  eyes  are  made  the  fools  o'  the  other  senses, 

Or  else  worth  all  the  rest :  I  see  thee  still ; 

And  on  thy  blade,  and  dudgeon,  gouts  of  blood, 

Which  was  not  so  before.  —  There's  no  such  thing : 

It  is  the  bloody  business,  which  informs 

Thus  to  mine  eyes.  —  Now  o'er  the  one  half  world 

Nature  seems  dead,  and  wicked  dreams  abuse 

The  curtain'd  sleep  ;  now  witchcraft  celebrates 

Pale  Hecate's  offerings ;  and  wither'd  murder, 

Alarum'd  by  his  sentinel,  the  wolf. 

Whose  howl's  his  watch,  thus  with  his  stealthy  pace. 

With  Tarquin's  ravishing  strides,  towards  his  design 

Moves  like  a  ghost.  —  Thou  sure  and  firm  set  earth, 

Hear  not  my  steps,  which  way  they  walk,  for  fear 

The  very  stones  prate  of  my  whereabout 

And  take  the  present  horror  from  the  time, 

Which  now  suits  with  it.  —  Whiles  I  threat,  he  lives; 

Words  to  the  heat  of  deeds  too  cold  breath  gives. 

{A  bell  rings, ^ 
I  go,  and  it  is  done  ;  the  bell  invites  me. 
Hear  it  not,  Duncan  ;  for  it  is  a  knell 

That  summons  thee  to  heaven  or  to  hell.  \^Exit. 

Enter  Lady  Macbeth. 
Lady  M,     That  which  hath  made  them  drunk,  hath  made 

me  bold  ; 
What  hath  quench'd  them,  hath  given  me  fire.  —  Hark'l  — 

Peace  ! 
It  was  the  owl  that  shriek'd  ;  the  fatal  bellman 
Which  gives  tlie  stern'st  good  night.      He  is  about  it; 


ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS.  303 

The  doors  are  open  ;  and  the  surfeited  grooms 

Do  mock    their  charge  with    snores :    I  have  drugg'd  their 

possets, 
That  death  and  nature  do  contend  about  them, 
Whether  they  live,  or  die. 

Macb.     {]Vlthln,)     Who's  there?  —  what,  ho  ! 

Lady  M,     Ahick  !   I  am  afraid  they  have  awaked, 
And  'tis  not  done  :  —  the  attempt,  and  not  the  deed. 
Confounds  us  :  —  Hark  !  —  I  laid  their  daggers  ready, 
lie  could  not  miss  them.  —  Had  he  not  resembled 
My  father  as  he  slept,  I  had  done't.  —  My  husband  ! 
Enter  Macbeth. 

JMacb.     I  have    done    the    deed.  —  Dids't  thou  not  hear 
a  noise? 

Lady  AL     I  heard  the  owl  scream,  and  the  crickets  cry. 
Did  not  you  speak? 

ALacb.  When  ? 

Lady  M.  Now. 

Macb,  As  I  descended? 

Lady  M,  Ay. 

ALacb.     Hark!  —  Who  lies  i'  the  second  chamber? 

Lady  Af,     Donalbain. 

ALacb,  This  is  a  sorry  sight. 

(^Looking  Oil  his  hands.) 

Lady  AL,     A  foolish  thought,  to  say  a  soi  ry  sight. 

AJacb.     There's  one  did  laugh  in  his  sleep,  and  one  cried, 
'ALurderf 
That  they  did  wake  each  other;  I  stood  and  heard  them  : 
Hut  tlicy  did  say  their  prayers,  and  address'd  them 
A^ain  to  sleep. 

Lady  AL.         There  are  two  lodged  together. 

ALrcb.     One  cried, 'Go^  bless  us!*  and  'Amen,'  tlr     t!  cm  : 
As  they  had  seen  me  with  these  hangman's  hands, 
Listening  their  fear   I  could  not  say.  Amen, 
I       W^hen  they  did  say,  God  bless  us. 
^     Lady  AL,     Consider  it  not  so  deeply. 


304  ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS. 

I  !i.ul  most  need  of  blessing,  and  Amen 
Stuck  in  my  throat. 

Lady  M.     These  deeds  must  not  be  thought 
After  these  ways  ;  so,  it  will  make  us  mad. 

Alacb,     Methought  I  heard  a  voice  cry,  Sleep  no  inorel 
ATacbeth  docs  mui'der  sleeps  the  innocent  sleep ! 
Sleeps  that  knits  up  the  ravelVd  sleave  of  care^ 
The  death  of  each  day's  life^  sore  labor's  bath^ 
Bahn  of  hurt  minds ^  great  nature's  second  course^ 
Chief  nourisher  in  life's  feasts  — 

Lady  AT,     What  do  you  mean  ? 

Alacb,     Still  it  cried,  Sleep  no  7?iore ;  to  all  the  house : 
Glaniis  hath  murder' d  sleep  ;  and  therefore  Cawdor 
Shall  sleep  no  more^  ATacbeth  shall  sleep  no  more  ! 

Lady  M,     Who  was  it  that  thus  cried?     Why  worthy 
thane, 
You  do  unbend  your  noble  strength,  to  think 
So  brainsickly  of  things.  —  Go,  get  some  water, 
And  wash  this  filthy  witness  from  your  hand. 
Why  did  you  bring  these  daggers  from  the  place? 
They  must  lie  there  :    go,  carry  them  ;  and  smear 
The  sleepy  grooms  with  blood. 

Alacb,  ril  go  no  more  : 

I  am  afraid  to  think  what  I  have  done  ; 
Look  on't  again,  I  dare  not. 

Lady  M.  Infirm  of  purpose  ! 

Give  me  the  daggers  :  the  sleeping,  and  the  dead, 
Are  but  as  pictures:  'tis  the  eye  of  childhood, 
That  fears  a  painted  devil.     If  he  do  bleed, 
ril  gild  the  faces  of  the  grooms  withal. 
For  it  must  seem  their  guilt. 

\^Exit,     Knocking  within, 

Alacb,     Whence  is  that  knocking? 
How  is't  with  me,  when  every  noise  appalls  me? 
What  hands  are  here?     Ha  !  they  pluck  out  mine  eyes! 
Will  all  great  Neptune's  ocean  wash  this  blood 
Clean  from  my  hand?     No;  this  my  hand  will  rather 


ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS,  305 

The  multitudinous  seas  incarnadine, 
Making  the  green  —  one  red. 

Re-enter  Lady  Macbeth. 
Lady  M.     My  hands  are  of  your  color  ;   but  I  shame 
To  wear  a  heart  so  white.     {K^iock.)     I  hear  a  knocking 
At  the  south  entry  :  — retire  we  to  our  chamber ; 
A  little  water  clears  us  of  this  deed  : 
How  easy  is  it  then  !     Your  constancy 
Hath    left   you    unattended. —  {Knocking.)      Hark!    more 

knocking : 
Get  on  your  nightgown,  lest  occasion  call  us, 
And  show  us  to  be  watchers.  —  Be  not  lost 
So  poorly  in  your  thoughts. 

Macb.     To  know  my  deed,  —  'twere  best  not  know  my- 
self. {Knock.) 
\  Wake  Duncan  with  thy  knocking !   I  would  thou  couldst ! 

\_ExeMnt. 
Shakespeare.  . 


ELOQUENCE. 


What  country  ever  offered  a  nobler  theatre  for  the  display 
j  of  eloquence  than  our  own.f*  From  the  primary  assemblies 
I  of  the  people,  where  power  is  conferred,  and  may  be  retained, 
[  to  the  national  legislature,  where  its  highest  attributes  are 
\  deposited  and  exercised,  all  feel  and  acknowledge  its  influ- 
\  ence. 

The  master  spirits  of  our  father-land,  they  who  guided  the 
j  councils  of  England  in  her  career  of  prosperity  and  glory, 
;  whose  eloquence' was  the  admiration  of  their  contemporaries, 
[as  it  will  be  of  posterity,  were  deeply  imbued  with  classical 
I  learning.  They  drank  at  the  fountain  and  not  at  the  stream, 
|and  they  led  captive  the  public  opinion  of  the  empire,  an  J 
[asserted  their  dominion  in  the  senate  and  the  cabinet. 

Nor  have  we  been  wanting  in  contribution  to  the  general 
20 


306  ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS. 

stock  of  eloquence.  In  our  legislative  assemblies,  at  the 
bar,  and  in  the  pulpit,  many  examples  are  before  us,  not  less 
cheering  in  the  rewards  they  offer  than  in  the  renown  which 
follows  them.  And  if  our  lamps  are  lighted  at  the  altar  of 
ancient  and  modern  learning,  we  may  hope  that  a  sacred  fire 
will  be  kept  burning,  to  shed  its  influence  upon  our  institu- 
tions, and  the  duration  of  the  Republic. 

But  after  all,  habits  of  mental  and  moral  discipline  are 
the  first  great  objects  in  any  system  of  instruction,  public  or 
private.  The  value  of  education  depends  far  less  upon 
varied  and  extensive  acquirements  than  upon  the  cultivation 
of  just  powers  of  thought,  and  the  general  regulation  of  the 
faculties  of  the  understanding.  That  it  is  not  the  amount  of 
knowledge,  but  the  capacity  to  apply  it,  which  protnises 
success  and  usefulness  in  life,  is  a  truth  that  cannot  be  too 
often  inculcated  by  instructors  and  recollected  by  pupils. 

If  youth  are  taught  how  to  think,  they  will  soon  learn 
what  to  think.  Exercise  is  not  more  necessary  to  a  health- 
ful state  of  the  body  than  is  the  employment  of  the  various 
faculties  of  the  mind  to  mental  efficiency.  The  practical 
sciences  are  as  barren  of  useful  products  as  the  speculative, 
where  facts  only  are  the  objects  of  knowledge,  unless  the 
understanding  is  habituated  to  a  continued  process  of  exam- 
ination and  reflection. 

No  precocity  of  intellect,  no  promise  of  genius,  no  extent 
of  knowledge,  can  be  weighed  in  the  scale  with  those  acqui- 
sitions. But  he  wrho  has  been  the  object  of  such  sedulous 
attention,  and  the  subject  of  such  a  course  of  instruction, 
may  enter  upon  the  great  duties  of  life  with  every  prospect 
of  an  honorable  and  a  useful  career.  His  armor  is  girded 
on  for  battle.  However  difficult  the  conjuncture  in  which 
he  may  be  called  on  to  act,  he  is  prepared  for  whatever  may 
betide  him.  Lewis  Cass. 


ADVANCED    READINGS   AND    RECITATIONS.  307 


DESTRUCTION  OF  THE   CARNATIC. 

When  at  length  Hyder  Ali  found  that  he  had  to  do  with 
inen  who  either  would  sign  no  convention,  or  whom  no 
treaty  and  no  signature  could  bind,  and  who  were  the  deter- 
mined enemies  of  human  intercourse  itself,  he  decreed  to 
make  the  country  possessed  by  these  incorrigible  and  predes- 
tinated criminals  a  memorable  example  to  mankind.  He 
resolved,  in  the  gloomy  recesses  of  a  mind  capacious  of  such 
tilings,  to  leave  the  whole  Carnatic  an  everlasting  monument 
of  vengeance,  and  to  put  perpetual  desolation  as  a  barrier 
between  him  and  those  against  whom  the  faith  which  holds 
the  moral  elements  of  the  world  together  was  no  protection. 

He  became  at  length  so  confident  of  his  force,  so  collected 
in  his  might,  that  he  made  no  secret  whatsoever  of  his  dread- 
ful resolution.  Having  terminated  his  disputes  with  every 
enemy  and  every  rival,  who  buried  their  mutual  animosities 
in  their  common  detestation  against  the  creditors  of  the 
Nabob  of  Arcot,  he  drew  from  every  quarter  whatever  a 
savage  ferocity  could  add  to  his  new  rudiments  in  the  art  of 
destruction ;  and  compounding  all  the  materials  of  fury, 
havoc,  and  desolation  into  one  black  cloud,  he  hung  for 
a  while  on  the  declivities  of  the  mountains.  Whilst  the 
authors  of  all  these  evils  were  idly  and  stupidly  gazing  on 
this  menacing  meteor,  which  blackened  all  their  horizon,  it 
suddenly  burst,  and  poured  down  the  whole  of  its  contents 
upon  the  plains  of  the  Carnatic. 

Then  ensued  a  scene  of  woe,  the  like  of  which  no  eye  had 
seen,  no  heart  conceived,  and  of  which  no  tongue  can 
adequately  tell.  All  the  horrors  of  war  before  known  or 
heard  of  wxre  mercy  to  that  new  havoc.  A  storm  of  uni- 
versal fire  blasted  every  field,  consumed  every  house,  de- 
rstroyed  every  temple.  The  miserable  inhabitants,  flyuig 
from  their  flaming  villages,  in  part  were  slaughtered  ;  others, 


K 


S08  ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS. 

without  regard  to  sex,  to  age,  to  the  respect  of  rank  or 
sacredness  of  function,  fathers  torn  from  children,  husbands 
from  wives,  enveloped  in  a  whirlwind  of  cavalry,  and  amidst 
the  goading  spears  of  (hivers,  and  the  trampling  of  pursuing 
horses,  were  swept  into  captivity  in  an  unknown  and  hostile 
land.  Those  who  were  able  to  evade  this  tempest  fled  to 
the  walled  cities  ;  but  escaping  from  fire,  sword,  and  exile, 
they  fell  into  the  jaws  of  famine. 

The  alms  of  the  settlement,  in  this  dreadful  exigency, 
were  certainly  liberal ;  and  all  was  done  by  charity  that 
private  charity  could  do ;  but  it  was  a  people  in  beg- 
gary ;  it  was  a  nation  which  stretched  out  its  hands  for 
food.  For  months  together  these  creatures  of  sufferance, 
whose  very  excess  and  luxury  in  their  most  plenteous 
days  had  fallen  short  of  the  allowance  of  our  austerest 
fasts,  silent,  patient,  resigned,  without  sedition  or  disturb- 
ance, almost  without  complaint,  perished  by  a  hundred  a 
day  in  tlie  streets  of  Madras ;  every  day  seventy  at  least  laid 
their  bodies  in  the  streets,  or  in  the  glacis  of  Tanjore,  and 
expired  of  famine  in  the  granary  of  India.  I  was  going  to 
awake  your  justice  towards  this  unhappy  part  of  our  fellow- 
citizens,  by  bringing  before  you  some  of  the  circumstances 
of  this  plague  of  hunger.  Of  all  the  calamities  wliich  beset 
and  waylay  the  life  of  man,  this  comes  the  nearest  to  our 
heart,  and  is  that  wherein  the  proudest  of  us  all  feels  himself 
to  be  nothing  more  than  he  is;  but  I  find  myself  unable  to 
manage  it  with  decorum  ;  these  details  are  of  a  species  of 
horror  so  nauseous  and  disgusting  ;  they  are  so  degrading  to 
the  sufferers  and  to  the  hearers  ;  they  are  so  humiliating  to 
human  nature  itself,  that^  on  better  thoughts,  I  find  it  more 
advisable  to  throw  a  pall  over  this  hideous  object,  and  to 
leave  it  to  your  general  conceptions. 

For  eighteen  months,  without  intermission,  this  destruc- 
tion raged  from  tlie  gates  of  Madras  to  the  gates  of  Tanjore; 
and  so  completely  did  these  masters  of  their  art,  Hyder  AH 
and  his  more  ferocious  son,  absolve  themselves  of  their  im- 
pious vow,  that,  when  the  British  armies  traversed,  as  they 


ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS.  309 

Jid,  the  Carnatic  for  hundreds  of  miles  in  all  directions, 
through  the  whole  line  of  their  march  they  did  not  see  one 
man,  not  one  woman,  not  one  child,  not  one  four-footed 
beast  of  any  description  whatever.  One  dead,  uniform  si- 
lence reigned  over  the  whole  region.  Burke. 


CHARITY. 


Though  I  speak  with  the  tongues  of  men  and  of  angels, 
and  have  not  charity,  I  am  become  as  sounding  brass,  or  a 
tinkling  cymbal.  And  though  I  have  the  gift  of  prophecy, 
and  understand  all  mysteries,  and  all  knowledge  ;  and  though 
I  have  all  faith,  so  that  I  could  remove  mountains,  and  have 
not  charity,  I  am  nothing.  And  though  I  bestow  all  my 
goods  to  feed  the  poor,  and  though  I  give  my  body  to  be 
burned,  and  have  not  charity,  it  profiteth  me  nothing. 

Charity  suflfereth  long,  and  is  kind  :  charity  envieth  not ; 
charity  vaunteth  not  itself,  is  not  pufied  up,  doth  not  behave 
itself  unseemly,  seeketh  not  her  own,  is  not  easily  provoked, 
tliinketh  no  evil ;  rejoiceth  not  in  iniquity,  but  rejoiceth  in 
the  truth  ;  beareth  all  things,  believeth  all  things,  hopeth  all 
things,  endureth  all  things.  Charity  never  faileth ;  but 
whether  there  be  prophecies,  they  shall  fail ;  whether  there 
he  tongues,  they  shall  cease;  whether  there  be  knowledge,  it 
shall  vanish  away. 

For  we  know  in  part,  and  we  prophesy  in  part.  But  when 
that  which  is  perfect  is  come,  then  that  which  is  in  part  shall 
be  done  away.  When  I  was  a  child,  I  spake  as  a  child,  I 
understood  as  a  child,  I  thought  as  a  child  ;  but  when  I  be- 
came a  man,  I  put  away  chiklish  things.  For  now  we  see 
through  a  glass,  darkly  ;  but  then  face  to  face  :  now  I  know 
in  part ;  but  then  shall  I  know  even  as  also  I  am  known. 
And  now  abideth  faith,  hope,  charity,  these  three ;  but  the 
greatest  of  these  is  charity.  Bible. 


310  ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS. 


WAITING  BY  THE   GATE, 

Beside  a  massive  gateway  built  up  in  years  gone  by, 
Upon  whose  top  the  clouds  in  eternal  shadow  lie, 
While  streams  the  evening  sunshine  on  quiet  wood  and  lea, 
I  stand  and  calmly  wait  till  the  hinges  turn  for  me. 

The  tree-tops  faintly  rustle  beneath  the  breeze's  flight, 
A  soft  and  soothing  sound,  yet  it  whispers  of  the  night; 
I  hear  the  wood-thrush  piping  one  mellow  descant  more. 
And  scent  the  flowers  that  blow  when  the  heat  of  day  is  o'er. 

Behold  the  portals  open,  and  o'er  the  threshold,  now. 
There  steps  a  weary  one  with  a  pale  and  furrowed  brow  ; 
His  count  of  years  is  full,  his  allotted  task  is  wrought; 
He  passes  to  his  rest  from  a  place  that  needs  him  not. 

In  sadness  then  I  ponder  how  quickly  fleets  the  hour 

Of  human  strength  and  action,  man's  courage  and  his  power. 

I  muse  while  still  the  wood-thrush  sings  down   the  golden 

day. 
And  as  I  look  and  listen  the  sadness  wears  away. 

Again  the  hinges  turn,  and  a  youth,  departing,  throws 
A  look  of  longing  backward,  and  sorrowfully  goes: 
A  blooming  maid,  unbinding  the  roses  from  her  hair, 
Moves  mournfully  away  from  amidst  the  young  and  fair. 

Oh,  glory  of  our  race  that  so  suddenly  decays ! 
Oh,  crimson  flush  of  morning  that  darkens  as  we  gaze ! 
Oh,  breath  of  summer  blossoms  that  on  the  restless  air 
Scatters    a    moment's     sweetness   and    flies   we    know   not 
where  ! 

I  grieve  for  life's  bright  promise,  just  shown  and  then  with- 
drawn ; 
But  still  the  sun  shines  round  me  :  the  evening  bird  sings  on^ 
And  I  again  am  soothed,  and,  beside  the  ancient  gate. 
In  the  soft  evening  sunlight,  I  calmly  stand  and  wait. 


ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS.  311 

Once  more  the  gates  are  opened  ;  an  infant  gronp  go  out, 
The  sweet  smile  quenched  forever,  and  stilled  the  sprightly 

shout. 
Oh,  frail,  frail  tree  of  life,  that  upon  the  greensward  strovvs 
Its  fair  young  buds  unopened,  with  every  wind  that  blows  ! 

So  come  from  every  region,  so  enter,  side  by  side, 
The  strong  and  faint  of  spirit,  the  meek,  and  men  of  pride. 
Steps  of  earth's  great  and  mighty,  between  those  pillars  gray. 
And  prints  of  little  feet,  mark  the  dust  along  the  way. 

And   some   approach  the   threshold  whose  looks  are  blank 

with  fear. 
And  some  whose  temples  brighten  with  joy  in  drawing  near. 
As  if  they  saw  dear  faces,  and  caught  the  gracious  eye 
Of  Him,  the  Sinless  Teacher,  who  came  for  us  to  die. 

I  mark  the  joy,  the  terror  ;  yet  these  within  my  heart. 
Can  neither  make  the  dread  nor  the  longing  to  depart ; 
And,  in  the  sunshine  streaming  on  quiet  wood  and  lea, 
I  stand  and  calmly  wait  till  the  hinges  turn  for  me. 

W.  C.  Bryant. 


QUEEN  KATHARINE   TO  HENRY  VHI. 

Wolsey,     Whilst  our  commission  from  Rome  is  read, 
Let  silence  be  commanded. 

King  Henry,  What's  the  need? 

It  hath  already  publicly  been  read. 
And  on  all  sides  the  authority  allow'd  ; 
You  may  then  spare  that  time. 

WoL  Be't  so.  —  Proceed. 

Scribe,     Say,  Henry,   King  of  England,   come   into  the 
court. 


312  ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS. 

Crier,     Henry,  King  of  England,  &c. 

K.  Hen.  Here. 

Scribe,     Say,  Katharine,   Queen   of  England,  come  into 
court. 

Crier,     Katharine,  Qiieen  of  England,  &c. 
i^The  ^ueen  makes  no  answer^  rises  out  of  her  chair ^ 
goes  about  the  courts  co?nes  to   the  King^  and  kneels 
at  his  feet ;  then  speaks,^ 

^ueen  Katharine,     Sir,  I  desire  you   do   me  right  and 
justice. 
And  to  bestow  your  pity  on  me  ;  for 
I  am  a  most  poor  woman,  and  a  stranger, 
Born  out  of  your  dominions;  having  here 
No  judge  indifferent,  nor  no  more  assurance 
Of  equal  friendship  and  proceeding.     Alas,  sir, 
In  what  have  I  offended  you  ;  what  cause 
Hath  my  behavior  given  to  your  displeasure, 
That  thus  you  should  proceed  to  put  me  off. 
And  take  your  good  grace  from  me?     Heaven  witness, 
I  have  been  to  you  a  true  and  humble  wife. 
At  all  times  to  your  will  conformable : 
Ever  in  fear  to  kindle  your  dislike. 
Yes,  subject  to  your  countenance ;  glad,  or  sorry. 
As  I  saw  it  inclined.     When  was  the  hour, 
1  ever  contradicted  your  desire. 

Or  made  it  not  mine  too?     Or  which  of  your  friends 
Have  I  not  strove  to  love,  although  I  knew 
He  were  mine  enemy?  what  friend  of  mine, 
That  had  to  him  derived  your  anger,  did  I 
Continue  in  my  liking?  nay,  gave  notice 
He  was  from  thence  discharged  ?     Sir,  call  to  mind^ 
That  I  have  been  your  wife,  in  this  obedience. 
Upward  of  twenty  years,  and  have  been  blest 
With  many  children  by  you  :  if,  in  the  course 
And  process  of  this  time,  you  can  report. 
And  prove  it  too,  against  mine  honor  aught, 
My  bond  to  wedlock,  or  my  love  and  duty, 


ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS.  313 

Against  your  sacred  person,  in  God's  name, 

Turn  me  away  ;  and  let  the  foul'st  contempt 

Shut  door  upon  me  and  so  give  me  up 

To  the  sharpest  kind  of  justice.     Please  you,  sir, 

The  king,  your  father,  was  reputed  for 

A  prince  most  prudent,  of  an  excellent 

.And  unmatched  wit  and  judgment.     Ferdinand, 

My  father,  king  of  Spain,  was  reckon'd  one 

The  wisest  prince,  that  there  had  reigned  by  many 

A  year  before :  it  is  not  to  be  questioned. 

That  they  had  gathered  a  wise  council  to  them 

Of  every  realm  that  did  debate  this  business, 

Who  deemed  our  marriage  lawful.      Wherefore  I  humbly 

Beseech  you,  sir,  to  spare  me,  till  I  may 

Be  by  my  friends  in  Spain  advised  ;  whose  counsel 

I  will  implore  :  if  not,  i'  th'  name  of  God 

Your  pleasure  be  fulfilled  ! 

JVol.  You  have  here,  lady, 

(And  of  your  choice,)  these  reverend  fathers  ;  men 
Of  singular  integrity  and  learning, 
Yea,  the  elect  of  the  land,  who  are  assembled 
To  plead  your  cause.    It  shall  be  therefore  bootless 
That  longer  you  desire  the  court ;  as  well 
For  your  own  quiet,  as  to  rectify 
What  is  unsettled  in  the  king. 

Campeius.  His  grace 

Hath  spoken  well   and   justly  :    therefore,  madam, 
It*s  fit  this  royal  session  do  proceed  ; 
And  that,  without  delay,  their  arguments 
Be  now  produced  and  heard. 

c^.  Kath.  Lord  Cardinal, 

To  you  I  speak. 

WoL  Your  pleasure,  madam. 

^.  KatJu  Sir, 

I  am  about  to  weep  ;  but  thinking  that 
We  are  a  queen,  (or  long  have  dreamed  so,)  certain^ 
The  daughter  of  a  king,  my  drops  of  tears 
ril  turn  to  sparks  of  fire. 


314  ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS. 

JVol.  Be  patient  yet. 

^.  Kath,     I  will,  when  you  are  humble  ;  nay,  before, 
Or  God  will  punish  me.     I  do  believe, 
Induced  by  potent  circumstances,  that 
You  are  mine  enemy  ;   and  make  my  challenge, 
You  shall  not  be  my  judge  ;  for  it  is  you 
Have  blown  this  coal  betwixt  my  lord  and  me,  — 
Which  God's  dew  quench  !  — Therefore,  I  say  again, 
I  utterly  abhor,  yea,  from  my  soul. 
Refuse  you  for  my  judge  :   whom,  yet  once  more, 
I  hold  my  most  malicious  foe,  and  think  not 
At  all  a  friend  to  truth. 

WoL  I  do  profess, 

You  speak  not  like  yourself;  who  ever  yet 
Have  stood  to  charity,  and  displayed  the  effects 
Of  disposition  gentle,  and  of  wisdom 
O'ertopping  woman's  power.     Madam,  you  do  me  wrong 
I  have  no  spleen  against  you  ;  nor  injustice 
For  you,  or  any :   how  far  I  have  proceeded, 
Or  how  far  further  shall,  is  warranted 
By  a  commision  from  the  consistory. 
Yea,  the  whole  consistory  of  Rome.     You  charge  me, 
That  I  have  blown  this  coal ;  I  do  deny  it: 
The  king  is  present ;  if  it  be  known  to  him, 
That  I  gainsay  my  deed,  how  may  he  wound, 
And  worthily,  my  falsehood  }  yea  as  much 
As  you  have  done  my  truth.     But,  if  he  know, 
That  I  am  free  of  your  report,  he  knows, 
I  am  not  of  your  wrong.     Therefore  in  him 
It  lies,  to  cure  me  ;  and  the  cure  is,  (o 
Remove  these  thoughts  from  you  :  the  which  before 
His  highness  shall  speak  in,  I  do  beseech 
You,  gracious  madam,  to  unthink  your  speaking, 
And  to  say  no  more. 

^.  Kath,  My  lord,  my  lord, 

I  am  a  simple  woman,  much  too  weak 
To   oppose  your    cunning.     You    are    meek    and   humbli 
mouthed ; 


aJ 


ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS.  315 

You  sign  your  place  and  calling,  in  full  seeming, 

With  meekness  and  humility  :  but  your  heart 

Is  cramm'd  with  arrogancy,  spleen,  and  pride. 

You  have  by  fortune,  and  his  highness'  favors, 

Gone  slightly  o'er  low  steps  ;   and  now  are  mounted. 

Where  powers  are  your  retainers  :  and  your  words, 

Domestics  to  you,  serve  your  will,  as't  please 

Yourself  pronounce  their  office.     I  must  tell  you, 

You  tender  more  your  person's  honor,  than 

Your  high  profession  spiritual :  that  again 

I  do  refuse  you  for  my  judge  ;  and  here. 

Before  you  all,  appeal  unto  the  pope, 

To  bring  my  whole  cause  'fore  his  holiness. 

And  to  be  judged  by  him. 

{She  courtesies  to  the  King^  and  offers  to  depart.) 

Cam.     The  queen  is  obstinate 
Stubborn  to  justice,  apt  to  accuse  it,  and 
Disdainful  to  be  try'd  by  it ;  'tis  not  well. 
She's  going  away. 

K.  Hen.  Call  her  again. 

Crier.     Katharine,    Qiieen    of   England,    come  into  the 
court. 

Grif.     Madam,  you  are  call'd  back. 

J^.  Kath.     What  need  you  note  it.?  pray  you,  keep  your 
way: 
When  you  are  call'd,  return.  —  Now  the  Lord  help! 
They  vex  me  past  my  patience  !  —  pray  you  pass  on  : 
I  will  not  tarry  :   no,  nor  ever  more, 
Upon  this  business,  my  appearance  make 
In  any  of  their  courts. 

Shakespeare, 


316  ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS. 


THE  BLUE  AND    THE  GRAY. 

By  the  flow  of  the  inland  river, 

Whence  the  fleets  of  iron  have  fled, 
Where  the  blades  of  the  grave-grass  quiver 
Asleep  on  the  ranks  of  the  dead  :  — 
Under  the  sod  and  the  dew^, 

Waiting  the  judgment  day  ; 
Under  the  one,  the  Blue, 
Under  the  other,  the  Gray. 

These  in  the  robings  of  glory, 

Those  in  the  gloom  of  defeat, 
All  with  the  battle-blood  gory, 
In  the  dusk  of  eternity  meet:  — 
Under  the  sod  and  the  dew, 

Waiting  the  judgment  day  ; 
Under  the  laurel,  the  Blue, 
Under  the  willow,  the  Gray. 

From  the  silence  of  sorrowful  hours, 

The  desolate  mourners  go, 
Lovingly  laden  with  flowers, 

Alike  for  the  friend  and  the  x>e  :  — 
Under  the  sod  and  the  de  /, 

Waiting  the  judgment  uay  ; 
Under  the  roses,  the  Blue, 
Under  the  lilies,  the  Gray. 

So,  with  an  equal  splendor, 
The  morning  sun-rays  fall. 
With  a  touch  impartially  tender, 

On  the  blossoms  blooming  for  all  :  — 
Under  the  sod  and  the  dew. 

Waiting  the  judgment  day  ; 
Broidered  with  gold,  the  Bkie, 
Mellowed  with  gold,  the  Grayo 


ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS.  317 

So,  when  the  Summer  callelh, 
On  forest  and  field  of  grain, 
With  an  equal  murmur  falleth 
The  cooling  drip  of  the  rain:  — 
Under  the  sod  and  the  dew. 

Waiting  the  judgment  day  ; 
Wet  with  the  rain,  the  Blue, 
Wet  with  the  rain,  the  Gray. 

Sadly,  but  not  with  upbraiding, 

The  generous  deed  was  done  ; 

In  the  storm  of  the  years  that  are  fading, 

No  braver  battle  was  won  :  — 

Under  the  sod  and  the  dew, 

Waiting  the  judgment  day  ; 
Under  the  blossoms,  the  Blue, 
Under  the  garlands,  the  Gray. 

No  more  shall  the  war-cry  sever. 
Or  the  winding  rivers  be  red  ; 
They  banish  our  anger  forever 

When  they  laurel  the  graves  of  our  dead  ! 
Under  the  sod  and  the  dew. 

Waiting  the  judgment  day  ; 
Love  and  tears  for  the  Blue, 
Tears  and  love  for  the  Gray. 

F.  M.  Finch. 


I 


WASHINGTON'S  GENIUS, 

The  history,  so  sad  and  so  glorious,  which  chronicles  the 
stern  struggle  in  which  our  rights  and  liberties  passed  through 
the  awful  baptism  of  fire  and  blood,  is  eloquent  with  the 
deeds  of  many  patriots,  warriors,  and  statesmen  ;  but  these 
all  fall  into  relations  to  one  prominent  and  commanding 
figure,  towering  above  the  whole  group  in  unapproachable 
majesty,  whose   exalted   character,   warm    and    bright   with 


318  ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS. 

every  public  and  private  virtue,  and  vital  v^ith  tiie  essential 
spirit  of  w^isdom,  has  burst  all  sectional  and  national  bounds, 
and  made  the  name  of  Washington  the  property  of  all 
mankind. 

This  illustrious  man,  at  once  the  world's  admiration  and 
enigma,  we  are  taught  by  a  fine  instinct  to  venerate,  and  by 
a  wrong  opinion  to  misjudge.  The  might  of  his  character 
has  taken  strong  hold  upon  the  feelings  of  great  masses  of 
men,  but  in  translating  this  universal  sentiment  into  an  intel- 
ligent form,  the  intellectual  element  of  his  wonderful  nature 
is  as  much  depressed  as  the  moral  element  is  exalted,  and 
consequently  we  are  apt  to  misunderstand  botli.  Mediocrity 
has  a  bad  trick  of  idealizing  itself  in  eulogizing  him,  and 
drags  him  down  to  its  own  low  level  while  assuming  to  lift 
him  to  the  skies. 

How  many  times  have  we  been  told  that  he  was  not 
a  man  of  genius,  but  a  person  of  "excellent  common-sense," 
of  "  admirable  judgment,"  of  "  rare  virtues  ; "  and  by  a  con- 
stant repetition  of  this  odious  cant  we  have  nearly  succeeded 
in  divorcing  comprehension  from  his  sense,  insight  from  his 
judgment,  force  from  his  virtues,  and  life  from  the  man. 
Accordingly,  in  the  panegyric  of  cold  spirits,  Washington 
disappears  in  a  cloud  of  common-places  ;  in  the  rodomontade 
of  boiling  patriots  he  expires  in  the  agonies  of  rant. 

The  sooner  this  bundle  of  mediocre  talents  and  moral 
qualities,  which  its  contrivers  have  the  audacity  to  call 
George  Washington,  is  hissed  out  of  existence,  the  better  it 
will  be  for  the  cause  of  talent  and  the  cause  of  morals  : 
contempt  of  that  is  the  beginning  of  wisdom. 

He  had  no  genius,  it  seems.  Oh,  no  !  genius,  we  must 
suppose,  is  the  peculiar  and  shining  attribute  of  some  orator, 
whose  tongue  can  spout  patriotic  speeches,  or  some  versifier, 
whose  muse  can  "  Hail  Columbia,"  but  not  of  the  man  who 
supported  states  on  his  arm,  and  carried  America  in  his 
brain.  The  madcap  Charles  Townsend,  the  motion  of  whose 
pyrotechnic  mind  was  like  the  whiz  of  a  hundred  rockets,  is 
a  man  of  genius ;  but  George  Washington,  raised  up  above 


ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS.  319 

the  level  of  even  eminent  statesmen,  and  with  a  nature 
moving  with  the  still  and  orderly  celerity  of  a  planet  round 
its  sun,  —  he  dwindles,  in  comparison,  into  a  kind  of  angelic 
dunce ! 

What  is  genius?  Is  it  worth  anything?  Is  splendid  folly 
the  measure  of  its  inspiration?  Is  wisdom  its  base  and 
summit,  —  that  which  it  recedes  from,  or  tends  towards? 
And  by  what  definition  do  you  award  the  name  to  the 
creator  of  an  epic,  and  deny  it  to  the  creator  of  a  country? 
On  what  principle  is  it  to  be  lavished  on  him  who  sculptures 
in  perishing  marble  the  image  of  possible  excellence,  and 
withheld  from  him  who  built  up  in  himself  a  transcendent 
character,  indestructible  as  the  obligations  of  Duty,  and 
beautiful  as  her  rewards?  E.  P.  Whipple. 


THE  RIDE   OF  JENNIE  M'NEAL. 

Paul  Revere  was  a  rider  bold  — 
Well  has  his  valorous  deed  been  told  ; 
Sheridan's  ride  was  a  glorious  one  — 
Often  it  has  been  dwelt  upon  ; 
But  why  should  men  do  all  the  deeds 
On  which  the  love  of  a  patriot  feeds? 
Hearken  to  me,  while  I  reveal 
The  dashing  ride  of  Jennie  M'Neal. 

On  a  spot  as  pretty  as  might  be  found 

In  the  dangerous  length  of  the  Neutral  Ground, 

In  a  cottage,  cozy,  and  all  their  own, 

She  and  her  mother  lived  alone. 

Safe  were  the  two,  with  their  frugal  store, 

From  all  of  the  many  who  passed  their  door; 

For  Jennie's  mother  was  strange  to  fears, 

And  Jennie  was  large  for  fifteen  years ; 


/ 


320  ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS. 

With  vim  her  eyes  were  glistening, 

Her  hair  was  the  hue  of  a  blackbird's  wing; 

And  while  the  friends  who  knew  her  well 

The  sweetness  of  her  heart  could  tell, 

A  gun  that  hung  on  the  kitchen  wall 

Looked  solemnly  quick  to  heed  her  call ; 

And  they  who  were  evil-minded  knew 

Her  nerve  was  strong  and  her  aim  was  true. 

So  all  kind  words  and  acts  did  deal 

To  generous,  black-eyed  Jennie  M'Neal. 

One  night,  when  the  sun  had  crept  to  bed, 

And  rain-clouds  lingered  overhead. 

And  sent  their  surly  drops  for  proof 

To  drum  a  tune  on  the  cottage  roof. 

Close  after  a  knock  at  the  outer  door 

There  entered  a  dozen  dragoons  or  more. 

Their  red  coats,  stained  by  the  muddy  road, 

That  they  were  British  soldiers  showed ; 

The  captain  his  hostess  bent  to  greet, 

Saying,  "Madam,  please  give  us  a  bit  to  eat; 

We  will  pay  you  well,  and,  if  may  be. 

This  bright-eyed  girl  for  pouring  our  tea; 

Then  we  must  dash  ten  miles  ahead. 

To  catch  a  rebel  colonel  abed. 

He  is  visiting  home,  as  doth  appear ; 

We  will  make  his  pleasure  cost  him  dear." 

And  they  fell  on  the  hasty  supper  with  zeal, 

Close-watched  the  while  by  Jennie  M'Neal. 

For  the  gray-haired  colonel  they  hovered  near, 
Had  been  her  true  friend,  kind  and  dear ; 
And  oft,  in  her  younger  days,  had  he 
Right  proudly  perched  her  upon  his  knee. 
And  told  her  stories  many  a  one 
Concerning  the  French  war  lately  done. 


ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS.  321 

And  oft  together  the  two  friends  were, 
And  many  the  arts  he  had  taught  to  her  ; 
She  had  hunted  by  his  fatherly  side, 
He  had  shown  her  how  to  fence  and  ride ; 
And  once  had  said,  "  The  time  may  be, 
Your  skill  and  courage  may  stand  by  me." 
So  sorrow  for  him  slie  could  but  feel. 
Brave,  grateful-hearted  Jennie  M'Neal. 

With  never  a  thought  or  a  moment  more, 
Bare-headed  she  slipped  from  the  cottage  door, 
Ran  out  where  the  horses  were  left  to  feed, 
Unhitched  and  mounted  the  captain's  steed. 
And  down  the  hilly  and  rock-strown  way 
She  urged  the  fiery  horse  of  gray. 
Around  her  slender  and  cloakless  form 
Pattered  and  moaned  the  ceaseless  storm; 
Secure  and  tight  a  gloveless  hand 
Grasped  the  reins  with  stern  command; 
And  full  and  black  her  long  hair  streamed, 
Whenever  the  ragged  lightning  gleamed, 
And  on  she  rushed  for  the  colonel's  weal. 
Brave,  lioness-hearted  Jennie  M'Neal. 

Hark !  from  the  hills,  a  moment  mute, 
Came  a  clatter  of  hoofs  in  hot  pursuit ; 
And  a  cry  from  the  foremost  trooper  said, 
"  Halt !  or  your  blood  be  on  your  head  ; 
She  heeded  it  not,  and  not  in  vain 
She  lashed  the  horse  with  the  bridle-rein. 
So  into  the  night  the  gray  horse  strode  ; 
His  shoes  hewed  fire  from  the  rocky  road : 
And  the  high-born  courage  that  never  dies 
Flashed  from  his  rider's  coal-black  eyes. 
The  pebbles  flew  from  the  fearful  race ; 
The  rain-drops  grasped  at  her  glowing  face. 
"  On,  on,  brave  beast !  "  with  loud  appeal, 
Cried  eager,  resolute  Jennie  M'Neal. 

21 


322  ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS. 

"  Halt !  "  once  more  came  the  voice  of  dread  ; 

"  Halt !  or  your  blood  be  on  your  head  !  " 

Then,  no  one  answering  to  the  calls, 

Sped  after  her  a  volley  of  balls. 

They  passed  her  in  her  rapid  flight, 

They  screamed  to  her  left,  they  screamed  to  her  right ; 

But,  rushing  still  o'er  the  slippery  track, 

She  sent  no  token  of  answer  back. 

Except  a  silvery  laughter-peal, 

Brave,  merry-hearted  Jennie  M'Neal. 

So  on  she  rushed,  at  her  own  good  will, 

Through  wood  and  valley,  o'er  plain  and  hill ; 

The  gray  horse  did  his  duty  well. 

Till  all  at  once  he  stumbled  and  fell, 

Himself  escaping  the  nets  of  harm. 

But  flinging  the  girl  with  a  broken  arm. 

Still  undismayed  by  the  numbing  pain, 

She  clung  to  the  horse's  bridle-rein. 

And  gently  bidding  him  to  stand, 

Petted  him  with  her  able  hand  ; 

Then  sprung  again  to  the  saddle-bow, 

And  shouted,  '^  One  more  trial  now  ! " 

As  if  ashamed  of  the  heedless  fall, 

He  gathered  his  strength  once  more  for  all, 

And,  galloping  down  a  hill-side  steep. 

Gained  on  the  troopers  at  every  leap ; 

No  more  the  high-bred  steed  did  reel,  : 

But  ran  his  best  for  Jennie  M'Neal.  • 

They  were  a  furlong  behind,  or  more, 
When  the  girl  burst  through  the  colonel's  door, 
Her  poor  arm  helpless  hanging  with  pain. 
And  she  all  drabbled  and  drenched  with  rain, 
But  her  cheeks  as  red  as  fire-brands  are, 
And  her  eyes  as  bright  as  a  blazing  star, 


1 


ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS.  323 

And  shouted,  "  Qiiick  !  be  quick,  I  say  ! 
They  come  !  they  come  !     Away  !  away  !  " 
Then  sunk  on  the  rude  white  floor  of  deal, 
Poor,  brave,  exhausted  Jennie  M'Neal. 

The  startled  colonel  sprung,  and  pressed 

The  wife  and  children  to  his  breast, 

And  turned  away  from  his  fireside  bright, 

And  glided  into  the  stormy  night ; 

Then  soon  and  safely  made  his  way 

To  where  the  patriot  army  lay. 

But  first  he  bent  in  the  dim  fire-light, 

And  kissed  the  forehead  broad  and  white, 

And  blessed  the  girl  who  had  ridden  so  well 

To  keep  him  out  of  a  prison-cell. 

The  girl  roused  up  at  the  martial  din, 

Just  as  the  troopers  came  rushing  in, 

And  laughed,  e'en  in  the  midst  of  a  moan, 

Saying,  *'  Good  sirs,  your  bird  has  flown. 

'Tis  I  who  have  scared  him  from  his  nest ; 

So  deal  with  me  now  as  you  think  best.'' 

But  the  grand  young  captain  bowed,  and  said 

"Never  you  hold  a  moment's  dread. 

Of  womankind  I  must  crown  you  queen; 

So  brave  a  girl  I  have  never  seen. 

Wear  this  gold  ring  as  your  valor's  due ; 

And  when  peace  comes  I  will  coine  for  you." 

But  Jennie's  face  an  arch  smile  wore. 

As  she  said,  "  There's  a  lad  in  Putnam's  corps, 

Who  told  me  the  same,  long  time  ago; 

You  two  would  never  agree,  I  know. 

I  promised  my  love  to  be  true  as  steel," 

Said  good,  sure-hearted  Jennie  M'Neal. 

Will  Carletok. 


324  ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS. 


HOTSPUR'S  DEFENCE. 

My  liege,  I  did  deny  no  prisoners, 

But,  I  remember,  when  the  fight  was  done. 

When  I  was  dry  with  rage,  and  extreme  toil, 

Breathless  and  faint,  leaning  upon  my  sword, 

Came  there  a  certain  lord,  neat,  trimly  dress'd, 

Fresh  as  a  bridegroom  ;  and  his  chin  new  reap'd, 

Show'd  like  a  stubble-land  at  harvest-home ; 

He  was  perfumed  like  a  milliner; 

And  *twixt  his  finger  and  thumb  he  held 

A  pouncet-box  which  ever  and  anon 

He  gave  his  nose,  and  took 't  away  again  ;  — 

Who,  therewith  angry,  when  it  next  came  there, 

Took  it  in  snuff;  —  and  still  he  smiTd  and  talk'd  ; 

And,  as  the  soldiers  bore  dead  bodies  by, 

He  called  them  —  untaught  knaves,  unmannerly, 

To  bring  a  slovenly  unhandsome  corse 

Betwixt  the  wind  and  his  nobility. 

With  many  holyday  and  lady  terms 

He  questioned  me  ;  among  the  rest  demanded 

My  prisoners,  in  your  majesty's  behalf. 

I  then,  all  smarting,  with  my  wounds  being  cold, 

To  be  so  pester'd  with  a  popinjay, 

Out  of  my  grief  and  my  impatience. 

Answered  neglectingly,  I  know  not  what ; 

He  should,  or  he  should  not ;  —  for  he  made  me  mad 

To  see  him  shine  so  brisk,  and  smell  so  sweet, 

And  talk  so  like  a  waiting  gentlewoman. 

Of  guns,  and  drums,  and  wounds  (God  save  the  mark  !), 

And  telling  me,  the  sovereign'st  thing  on  earth 

Was  parmaceti  for  an  inward  bruise  ; 

And  that  it  was  great  pity,  so  it  was. 

That  villanous  saltpetre  should  be  digg'd 

Out  of  the  bowels  of  the  harmless  earth. 

Which  many  a  good  tall  fellow  had  destroyed 


ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS.  325 

So  cowardly  ;  and  but  for  these  vile  guns, 
He  would  himself  have  been  a  soldier. 
This  bald,  disjointed  chat  of  his,  my  lord, 
I  answered  indirectly,  as  I  said  ; 
And  I  beseech  you,  let  not  his  report 
Come  current  for  an  accusation. 
Betwixt  my  love  and  your  high  majesty. 

Shakespeare. 


THE    RAVEN, 


)nce  upon  a  midnight  dreary,  while  I  ponder'd,  weak  and 
weary. 

Over  many  a  quaint  and  curious  volume  of  forgotten  lore, — 
While  I   nodded,  nearly   napping,  suddenly   there    came    a 

tapping, 
As  of  some  one  gently  rapping,  rapping  at  my  chamber-door. 
"  'Tis  some  visitor,"  I  mutter'd,  ''  tapping  at  my  chamber- 
door  — 

Only  this,  and  nothing  more." 

Ah,  distinctly  I  remember,  it  was  in  the  bleak  December, 
And  each  separate  dying  ember  wrought  its  ghost  upon  the 

floor, 
Eagerly  I  wish'd  the  morrow:  vainly  I  had  sought  to  borrow 
From   my  books  surcease  of  sorrow,  —  sorrow  for  the  lost 

Lenore,  — 
1  or  the   rare   and  radiant  maiden  whom  the  angels  name 

Lenore,  — 

Nameless  here  forevermore. 

And  the  silken,  sad,  uncertain  rustling  of  each  purple  cur- 
tain, 

Thrill'd  me — fill'd  me  with  fantastic  terrors  never  felt  before; 

So  that  now,  to  still  the  beating  of  my  heart,  I  stood  repeat- 
i"g9 


326  ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS. 

'^  'Tis  some  visitor  entreating  entrance  at  my  cliamber-door, — 
Some  late  visitor  entreating  entrance  at  my  chamber-door  ; 
That  it  is,  and  nothing  more." 

Presently  my  soul  grew^  stronger :  hesitating  then  no  longer, 

"  Sir,"  said  I,  "or  Madam,  truly  your  forgiveness  I  implore  ; 

But  the  ftict   is,   I  w^as   napping,   and   so  gently  you  came 
rapping, 

And  so  taintly  you  came  tapping,  tapping  at  my  chamber- 
door, 

That  I  scarce  was  sure  I  heard  you  "  —  here  I  open'd  wide 
the  door : 

Darkness  there,  and  nothing  more. 

Deep  into  that  darkness  peering,  long  I  stood  there,  wonder- 
ing, fearing, 

Doubting,  dreaming  dreams  no  mortals  ever  dared  to  dream 
before ; 

But  the  silence  was  unbroken,  and  the  stillness  gave  no  token, 

And  the  only  word  there  spoken  was  the  whisper'd  word, 
"  Lenore ! " 

This  I  whispered,  and   an  echo   murmur'd  back  the  word, 
"  Lenore ! " 

Merely  this,  and  nothing  more. 

Back  into  the  chamber  turning,  all  my  soul  within  me  burn- 
ing, 

Soon  again  I  heard  a  tapping,  something  louder  than  before. 

"  Surely,"  said  I,  "  surely  that  is  something  at  my  window- 
lattice, 

Let  me  see  then  what  thereat  is,  and  this  mystery  explore, — 

Let  my  heart  be  still  a  moment,  and  this  mystery  explore  ; 

'Tis  the  wind,  and  nothing  more." 

Open  here  I  flung  the  shutter,  when,  with  many  a  flirt  and 

flutter 
In  there  stepp'd  a  stately  raven  of  the  saintly  days  of  yore. 


ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS.  327 

Not  the  least  obeisance  made  he;  not  a  minnte  stopp'd  or 
stay'd  he  ; 

But,  with  mien  of  lord  or  lady,  perch'd  above  my  chamber- 
door,  — 

Perch'd  upon  a  bustof  Pallas,  just  above  my  chamber-door  — 
Perched  and  sat,  and  nothing  more. 

Then  this  ebony  bird  beguiling  my  sad  fancy  into  smiling, 
By  the  grave  and  stern  decorum  of  the  countenance  it  wore, 
"  Though  thy  crest  be  shorn  and  shaven,  thou,"  I  said,  "  art 

sure  no  craven  ; 
Ghastly,  grim,  and  ancient  raven,  wandering  from  the  nightly 

shore ; 
Tell  me  what  thy  lordly  name  is  on  the  Night's  Plutonian 

shore  ?  '* 

Quoth  the  raven,  "  Nevermore  !  " 

Much  I  marvel'd  this  ungainly  fowl  to  hear  discourse  so 
plainly. 

Though  its  answer  little  meaning  —  little  relevancy  bore  ; 

For  we  can  not  help  agreeing  that  no  living  human  being 

Ever  yet  w^as  bless'd  with  seeing  bird  above  his  chamber- 
door,  — 

Bird  or  beast  upon  the  sculptured  bust  above  his  chamber- 
door, 

With  such  name  as  "  Nevermore  !  " 

But  the  raven  sitting  lonely  on  the  placid  bust,  spoke  only 
That  one  word,  as  if  his  soul  in  that  one  word  he  did  outpour. 
Nothing    further    then   he   utter'd,  —  not    a    feather    then   he 

fluttered, — 
Till   I  scarcely  more   than    mutter'd,   ''  Other   friends   have 

flown  before, — 
On  the  morrow  he  will  leave  me,  as  my  hopes  have  flown 

before." 

Then  the  bird  said,  ''  Nevermore !  " 


328  ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS. 

Startled  at  the  stillness,  broken  by  reply  so  aptly  spoken, 

"Doubtless,"  said   I, '' what   it   utters   is   its   only  stock  and 
store, 

Caught  from  some  unhappy  master,  whom  unmerciful  dis- 
aster 

Followed  fast  and  followed  faster,  till  his  songs  one  burden 
bore,  — 

Till  the  dirges  of  his  hope  that  melancholy  burden  bore, 
Of —  Never  —  nevermore  !  " 

But  the  raven  still  beguiling  all  my  sad  soul  into  smiling, 
Straight  I  wheel'd  a  cushioned  seat  in  front  of  bird,  and  bust, 

and  door. 
Then,  upon  the  velvet  sinking,  I  betook  myself  to  linking 
Fancy  unto  fancy,  thinking  w^hat  this  ominous  bird  of  yore  — 
What  this  grim,  ungainly,  ghastly,  gaunt,  and  ominous  bird 

of  yore  — 

Meant  in  croaking  "  Nevermore  !  " 

This  I  sat  engaged  in  guessing,  but  no  syllable  expressing 
To  the  fowl,  whose  fiery  eyes  now  burn'd  into  my  bosom's 

core ; 
This  and  more  I  sat  divining,  with  my  head  at  ease  reclining 
On  the  cushion's  velvet  lining   that  the  lamp-light   gloated 

o'er. 
But  whose  velvet  violet  lining,  with  the  lamp-light  gloating 

o'er, 

She  shall  press  —  ah  !  nevermore ! 

Then  methought  the  air  grew  denser,  perfumed  from  an  un- 
seen censer 

Swung  by  seraphim,  whose  foot-falls  tinkled  on  the  tufted 
floor. 

"Wretch,"   I  cried,   "thy   God  hath    lent  thee  — by   these 
angels  he  hath  sent  thee 

Respite  —  respite  and  nepenthe  from  thy  memories  of  Lenore  ! 

Quaff,  oh,  quaff  this    kind  nepenthe,   and    forget    this    lost 
Lenore  !  " 

Qtioth  the  raven,  "  Nev^ermore  !  " 


ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS.  329 

"  Propiiet !  "   said  I,  "  thing  of  evil !  — prophet  still,  if  bird 

or  devil  ! 
Whether  tempter  sent,  or  whether  tempest  toss'd   thee  here 

ashore, 
Desolate,  yet  all  undaunted,  on  this  desert  land  enchanted  — 
On  this  home  by  Horror  haunted,  —  tell  me  truly  I  implore, — 
Is  there,  —  is  there  balm  in  Gilead  ?  —  tell  me  —  tell  me,  I  im- 
plore?" 

Qiioth  the  raven,  "  Nevermore  !  " 

''  Prophet  !"   said  I,  ''thing  of  evil  ! — prophet  still,  if  bird 

or  devil ! 
By  that  heaven  that  bends  above  us  —  by  that  God  we  both 

adore,  ' 
Tell  this    soul,   with    sorrow    laden,    if,  within    the  distant 

Aidenn, 
It   shall     clasp   a   sainted    maiden,    whom  the  angels  name 

Lenore ; 
Clasp  a  rare  and  radiant  maiden,  whom  the  angels  name 

Lenore  !  " 

Qiioth  the  raven,  "  Nevermore  !  " 

''  Be  that  word  our  sign  of  parting,  bird  or  fiend  !  "  I  shriek'd 

upstarting  — 
"  Get  thee  back  into  the  tempest  and  the  Night's  Plutonian 

shore  ! 
Leave  no  black  plume  as  a  token  of  that  lie  thy  soul  hath 

spoken  ! 
Leave  my  loneliness  unbroken! — quit  the    bust   above  my 

door ! 
Take  thy  beak  from  out  my  heart,  and  take  thy  form  from 

off  my  door !  " 

Qiioth  the  raven,  "  Nevermore  !  " 

And  the  raven,  never  flitting,  still  is  sitting,  still  is  sitting 
On  the  paUid  bust  of  Pallas,  just  above  my  chamber-door  ; 
And   his  eyes  have    all  the  seeming  of   a   demon's    that  is 
dreaming. 


330  ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS. 

And  the  lamp-light  o'er  him  streaming  throws  his  shadow  on 

the  floor ; 
And  my  soul  from  out  that  shadow  that  lies  floating  on  the 
floor 

Shall  be  lifl;ed  —  nevermore  ! 

Edgar  A.  Poe. 


THE  NEW  CHURCH  ORGAN. 

They've  got  a  bran  new  organ,  Sue, 

For  all  their  fuss  and  search  ; 
They've  done  just  as  they  said  they'd  do, 

And  fetched  it  into  church. 
They're  bound  the  critter  shall  be  seen, 

And  on  the  preacher's  right, 
They've  hoisted  up  their  new  machine 

In  everybody's  sight. 
They've  got  a  chorister  and  choir, 

Ag'n  my  voice  and  vote  ; 
For  it  was  never  my  desire. 

To  praise  the  Lord  by  note ! 

I've  been  a  sister  good  an'  true. 

For  five  an'  thirty  year ; 
I've  done  what  seemed  my  part  to  do. 

An'  prayed  my  duty  clear ; 
I've  sung  the  hymns  both  slow  and  quick, 

Just  as  the  preacher  read  ; 
And  twice,  when  Deacon  Tubbs  was  sick, 

I  took  the  fork  an'  led  ! 
And  now,  their  bold,  new-fangled  ways 

Is  com  in'  all  about ; 
And  I,  right  in  my  latter  days, 

Am  fairly  crowded  out ! 

To-day,  the  preacher,  good  old  dear. 

With  tears  all  in  his  eyes, 
Read  —  ''I  can  read  my  title  clear 

To  mansions  in  the  skies,"  — 


ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS.  331 

I  al'ays  liked  that  blessed  hymn  — 

I  s'pose  I  a  Fays  will  ; 
It  somehow  gratifies  my  whim, 

In  good  old  Ortonville  ; 
But  wdien  that  choir  got  up  to  sing, 

I  couldn't  catch  a  word  ; 
They  sung  the  most  dog-gonedest  thing, 

A  body  ever  heard  ! 

Some  worldly  chaps  was  standin'  near, 

An'  when  I  seed  them  grin, 
I  bid  farewell  to  every  fear, 

And  boldly  waded  in. 
I  thought  I'd  chase  their  tune  along. 

An'  tried  with  all  my  might ; 
But  though  my  voice  is  good  an'  strong 

I  couUVn't  steer  it  right ; 
When  they  was  high,  then  I  was  low, 

An'  also  contra' wise  ; 
And  I  too  fast,  or  they  too  slow. 

To  ''  mansions  in  the  skies." 

An'  after  every  verse,  you  know 

They  played  a  little  tune  ; 
I  didn't  understand,  an'  so 

I  started  in  too  soon. 
I  pitched  it  pritty  middlin'  high, 

I  fetched  a  lusty  tone, 
But  oh,  alas  !   I  found  that  I 

Was  singing  there  alone  ! 
They  laughed  a  little,  I  am  told; 

But  I  had  done  my  best ; 
And  not  a  wave  of  trouble  roiled 

Across  my  peaceful  breast. 

And  sister  Brown  —  I  could  but  look  — 

She  sits  right  front  of  me  ; 
She  never  was  no  singin'  book, 

An'  never  meant  to  be  ; 


332  ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS. 

But  then  she  al'ays  tried  to  do 

The  best  she  could,  she  said  ; 
She  understood  the  time,  right  through, 

An'  kep*  it,  with  her  head  ; 
But  when  she  tried  this  mornin*,  oh, 

I  had  to  laugh,  or  cough  — 
It  kep'  her  head  a  bobbin'  so, 

It  e'en  a'most  came  off  ! 

An'  Deacon  Tubbs,  —  he  all  broke  down, 

As  one  might  well  suppose, 
He  took  one  look  at  sister  Brown, 

And  meekly  scratched  his  nose. 
He  looked  his  hymn-book  through  and  through 

And  laid  it  on  the  seat. 
And  then  a  pensive  sigh  he  drew, 

And  looked  completely  beat. 
An'  when  they  took  another  bout. 

He  didn't  even  rise. 
But  drawed  his  red  bandanner  out, 

An'  wiped  his  weepin'  eyes. 

I've  been  a  sister,  good  an'  true. 

For  five  an'  thirty  year ; 
I've  done  what  seemed  my  part  to  do, 

An'  prayed  my  duty  clear ; 
But  death  will  stop  my  voice,  I  know, 

For  he  is  on  my  track  ; 
And  some  day,  I  to  church  will  go. 

And  never  more  come  back. 
And  when  the  folks  get  up  to  sing  — 

Whene'er  that  time  shall  be  — 
I  do  not  want  no  patent  thing 

A  squealin'  over  me  ! 

Will  Carleton. 


ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS.  333 


LAST  HOURS  OF  WEBSTER. 

Among  the  many  memorable  words  which  fell  from  the 
lips  of  our  friend  just  before  they  were  closed  forever,  the 
most  remarkable  are  those  which  have  been  quoted  by  a  pre- 
vious speaker :  "  I  still  live."  They  attest  the  serene  com- 
posure of  his  mind,  —  the  Christian  heroism  with  which  he 
was  able  to  turn  his  consciousness  in  upon  himself,  and  ex- 
plore, step  by  step,  the  dark  passage  (dark  to  us,  but  to  him, 
we  trust,  already  lighted  from  above)  which  connects  this 
world  with  the  world  to  come.  But  I  know  not  what  words 
could  have  been  better  chosen  to  express  his  relation  to  the 
world  he  was  leaving,  —  "I  still  live."  This  poor  dust  is 
just  returning  to  the  dust  from  which  it  was  taken,  but  I 
feel  that  I  live  in  the  affections  of  the  people  to  whose  ser- 
vices I  have  consecrated  my  days.  ''  I  still  live."  The  icy 
hand  of  death  is  already  laid  on  my  heart,  but  I  shall  still 
live  in  those  words  of  counsel  which  I  have  uttered  to  my 
fellow-citizens,  and  which  I  now  leave  them  as  the  last 
bequest  of  a  dying  friend. 

In  the  long  and  honored  career  of  our  lamented  friend, 
there  are  efforts  and  triumphs  which  will  hereafter  fill  one 
of  the  brightest  pages  of  our  history.  But  I  greatly  err  if 
the  closing  scene,  —  the  height  of  the  religious  sublime, — 
does  not,  in  the  judgment  of  other  days,  far  transcend  in 
interest  the  brightest  exploits  of  public  life.  Within  that 
darkened  chamber  at  Marshfield  was  witnessed  a  scene  of 
which  we  shall  not  readily  find  the  parallel.  The  serenity 
with  which  he  stood  in  the  presence  of  the  King  of  terrors, 
without  trepidation  or  flutter,  for  hours  and  days  of  expecta- 
tion ;  the  thoughtfulness  for  the  public  business  when  the 
sands  of  life  were  so  nearly  run  out ;  the  hospitable  care  for 
the  reception  of  the  friends  who  came  to  Marshfield  ;  that 
affectionate  and  solemn  leave  separately  taken,  name  by 
I  name,  of  wife,  and  children,  and  kindred,  and  friends,  and 


334  ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS. 

family,  —  down  to  the  humblest  members  of  the  houseliold  ; 
the  designation  of  the  coming  day,  then  near  at  hand,  when 
'^  all  that  was  mortal  of  Daniel  Webster  should  cease  to 
exist ; "  the  dimly-recollected  strains  of  the  funeral  poetry  of 
Gray  ;  the  last  fciint  flash  of  the  soaring  intellect ;  the  feelol}- 
murmured  words  of  Holy  Writ  repeated  from  the  lips  of  the 
good  physician,  who,  when  all  the  resources  of  human  art 
had   been   exhausted,  had  a  drop  of  spiritual   balm  for   the 


parting  soul ;  the  clasped  hands ;  the  dying  prayers.  Oh  ! 
my  fellow-citizens,  this  is  a  consummation  over  which  tears 
of  pious  sympathy  will  be  shed  ages  after  the  glories  of  the 
forum  and  the  senate  are  forgotten. 

*'His  sufferings  ended  with  the  day, 
Yet  Hved  he  at  its  close, 
And  breathed  the  long,  long  night  away, 
In  statue-like  repose. 

**But  ere  the  sun,  in  all  his  state, 
Illumed  the  Eastern  skies, 
He  passed  through  glory's  morning  gate, 
And  walked  in  Paradise." 

Edward  Everett. 


THE  OLD  CLOCK  ON  THE  STAIRS, 

Somewhat  back  from  the  village  street 

Stands  the  old-fashioned  country-seat ; 

Across  its  antique  portico 

Tall  poplar  trees  their  shadows  throw ; 

And,  from  its  station  in  the  hall, 

An  ancient  timepiece  says  to  all, 

''  Forever  —  never  ! 

Never  —  forever  !  " 

Half-way  up  the  stairs  it  stands, 
And  points  and  beckons  with  its  hands 
From  its  case  of  massive  oak, 
Like  a  monk  who,  under  his  cloak, 


ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS.  335 

Crosses  himself,  and  sighs,  alas ! 
With  sorrowful  voice  to  all  who  pass, 

''  Forever  —  never  ! 

Never  —  forever  !  " 

By  day  its  voice  is  low  and  light ; 
But  in  the  silent  dead  of  night, 
Distinct  as  a  passing  footstep's  fall, 
It  echoes  along  the  vacant  hall. 
Along  the  ceiling,  along  the  floor, 
And  seems  to  say  at  each  chamber  door, 

"  Forever  —  never  ! 

Never  —  forever  !  " 

Through  days  of  sorrow  and  of  mirth. 
Through  days  of  death  and  days  of  birth, 
Through  every  swift  vicissitude 
Of  changeful  time,  unchanged  it  has  stood, 
And  as  if,  like  God,  it  all  things  saw. 
It  calmly  repeats  those  words  of  awe, 

"  Forever  —  never ! 

Never  —  forever !  '* 

In  that  mansion  used  to  be 

Free-hearted  Hospitality  ; 

His  great  fires  up  the  chimney  roared; 

The  stranger  feasted  at  his  board  ; 

But,  like  the  skeleton  at  the  feast, 

That  warning  timepiece  never  ceased,  — 

"  Forever  —  never ! 

Never  —  forever !  " 

There  groups  of  merry  children  played ; 

There  youths  and  maidens  dreaming  strayed; 

Oh,  precious  hours!  oh,  golden  prime 

And  affluence  of  love  and  time ! 

Even  as  a  miser  counts  his  gold. 

Those  hours  the  ancient  timepiece  told,— 

*'  Forever  —  never ! 

Never  —  forever ! '' 


336  ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS. 

From  that  chamber,  clothed  in  white, 
The  bride  came  forth  on  her  wedding  night ; 
There,  in  that  silent  room  below, 
The  dead  lay,  in  his  shroud  of  snow  ; 
And,  in  the  hush  that  followed  the  prayer, 
Was  heard  the  old  clock  on  the  stair, — 

'^  Forever  —  never ! 

Never  —  forever  !  *' 

All  are  scattered,  now,  and  fled, — 
Some  are  married,  some  are  dead ; 
And  when  I  ask,  with  throbs  of  pain, 
"  Oh,  when  shall  they  all  meet  again  ?  '* 
As  in  the  days  long  since  gone  by, 
The  ancient  timepiece  makes  reply, 

"  Forever  —  never ! 

Never  — forever ! " 

Never  here,  forever  there. 
Where  all  parting,  pain,  and  care. 
And  death,  and  time,  shall  disappear, — 
Forever  there,  but  never  here! 
The  horologe  of  Eternity 
Sayeth  this  incessantly, 

"  Forever  —  never ! 
Never —  forever ! " 

Longfellow. 


THE   TWENTY-THIRD  PSALM. 

The  Lord  is  my  shepherd,  I  shall  not  want. 

He  maketh  me  to  lie  down  in  green  pastures ;  he  leadeth 
me  beside  the  still  waters. 

He  restoreth  my  soul ;  he  leadeth  me  in  the  paths  of 
righteousness  for  his  name's  sake. 

Yea,  though  I  walk  through  the  valley  of  the  shadow  of 


ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS.  337 

death,  I  will  fear  no  evil ;  for  thou  art  with  me  ;  thy  rod  and 
thy  staff'  they  comfort  me. 

Thou  preparest  a  table  before  me  in  the  presence  of  mine 
enemies  ;  thou  annointest  my  head  with  oil ;  my  cup  runneth 
over. 

Surely  goodness  and  mercy  shall  follow  me  all  the  days 
of  my  life ;  and  I  will  dwell  in  the  house  of  the  Lord  for 
ever.  Bible. 


THE   WITCH'S  DAUGHTER. 

It  was  the  pleasant  harvest-time 

When  cellar-bins  are  closely  stowed, 
And  garrets  bend  beneath  their  load, 

And  the  old  swallow-haunted  barns  — 
Brown-gabled,  long,  and  full  of  seams 
Through  which  the  moted  sunlight  streams  — 

Are  filled  with  summer's  ripened  stores, 
Its  odorous  grass  and  barley  sheaves, 
From  their  low  scaffolds  to  their  eaves. 

On  Esek  Harden's  oaken  floor. 

With  many  an  autumn  threshing  worn, 
Lay  the  heaped  ears  of  unhusked  corn. 

And  thither  came  young  men  and  maids. 
Beneath  a  moon  that  large  and  low. 
Lit  that  sweet  eve  of  long  ago. 

They  took  their  places  ;  some  by  chance, 
And  others  by  a  merry  voice 
Or  sweet  smile  guided  to  their  choice. 

How  pleasantly  the  rising  moon, 

Between  the  shadow  of   the  mows. 

Looked  on  them  through  the  great  ^elm-boughs  !- 
On  sturdy  boyhood,  sun-imbrowned. 

On  girlhood  with  its  solid  curves 

Of  healthful  strength  and  painless  nerves! 

22 


338  ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS. 

And  jests  went  round,  and  laughs  that  made 
The  house-dog  answer  with  his  liowl, 
And  kept  astir  tlie  barnyard  fowl. 

But  still  the  sweetest  voice  was  mute 
That  river-valley  ever  heard 
From  lip  of  maid  or  throat  of  bird  ; 

For  Mabel  Martin  sat  apart, 

And  let  the  hay-mow*s  shadow  fall 
Upon  the  loveliest  face  of  all. 

She  sat  apart,  as  one  forbid, 

Who  knew  that  none  would  condescend 
To  own  the  Witch-wife's  child  a  friend. 

The  seasons  scarce  had  gone  their  round, 
Since  curious  thousands  thronged  to  see 
Her  mother  on  the  gallows-tree. 

And  mocked  the  palsied  limbs  of  age. 
That  faltered  on  the  fatal  stairs. 
And  wan  lip  trembling  with  its  prayers ! 

Few  questioned  of  the  sorrowing  child, 
Or,  when  they  saw  the  mother  die, 
Dreamed  of  the  daughter's  agony. 

Poor  Mable  from  her  mother's  grave 
Crept  to  her  desolate  hearthstone. 
And  wrestled  with  her  fate  alone. 

Sore,  tried,  and  pained,  the  poor  girl  kept 
Her  faith,  and  trusted  that  her  way. 
So  dark,  would  somewhere  meet  the  day. 

And  still  her  weary  wheel  went  round, 
Day  after  day,  with  no  relief; 
Small  leisure  have  the  poor  for  grief. 

So  in  the  shadow  Maole  sits ; 

Untouched  by  mirth  she  sees  and  hears. 
Her  smile  is  sadder  than  her  tears. 

But  cruel  eyes  have  found  her  out. 
And  cruel  lips  repeat  her  name, 
And  taunt  her  with  her  mother's  shame. 


ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS,  339 

She  answered  not  with  railing  words, 

But  drew  her  apron  o'er  her  face, 

And,  sobbing,  gHded  from  the  place. 
And  only  pausing  at  the  door, 

Her  sad  eyes  met  the  troubled  gaze 

Of  one  who,  in  her  better  days, 
Had  been  her  warm  and  steady  friend, 

Ere  yet  her  mother's  doom  had  made 

Even  Esek  Harden  half  afraid. 

He  felt  that  mute  appeal  of  tears. 

And,  starting,  with  an  angry  frown 

Hushed  all  the  wicked  murmurs  down. 
"  Good  neighbors  mine,"  he  sternly  said, 

"  This  passes  harmless  mirth  or  jest, 

I  brook  no  insult  to  my  guest. 

"  She  is  indeed  her  mother's  child  ; 

But  God's  sweet  pity  ministers 

Unto  no  whiter  soul  than  hers. 
Let  Goody  Martin  rest  in  peace  ; 

I  never  knew  her  harm  a  fly. 

And  witch  or  not,  God  knows,  —  not  I. 
I  know  who  swore  her  life  away  ; 

And,  as  God  lives,  I'd  not  condemn 

An  Indian  dog  on  word  of  them." 

The  broadest  lands  in  all  the  town. 
The  skill  to  guide,  the  power  to  awe, 
Were  Harden's  ;   and  his  word  was  law. 

None  dared  withstand  him  to  his  face. 
But  one  sly  maiden  spake  aside : 
"  The  little  witch  is  evil-eyed  ! 

Her  mother  only  killed  a  cow. 
Or  witched  a  churn  or  dairy-pan ; 
But  she,  forsooth,  must  charm  a  man  I  " 

Poor  Mabel,  in  her  lonely  home. 
Sat  by  the  window's  narrow  pane, 
White  in  the  moonlit^ht's  silver  rain. 


340  ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS. 

The  river,  on  its  pebbled  rim, 

Made  music  such  as  childhood  knew ; 

The  door-yard  tree  was  whispered  through 
By  voices  such  as  childhood's  ear 

Had  heard  in  moonlights  long  ago ; 

And  through  the  willow  boughs  below 

She  saw  the  rippled  waters  shine ; 
Beyond  in  waves  of  shade  and  light 
The  hills  rolled  off  into  the  night. 

Sweet  sounds  and  pictures  mocking  so 
The  sadness  of  her  human  lot, 
She  saw  and  heard,  but  heeded  not. 

She  strove  to  drown  her  sense  of  wrong, 
And,  in  her  old  and  simple  way. 
To  teach  her  bitter  heart  to  pray. 

Poor  child  !  the  prayer  begun  in  faith, 
Grew  to  a  low,  despairing  cry 
Of  utter  misery  :   "  Let  me  die  ! 

Oh,  take  me  from  the  scornful  eyes, 
And  hide  me  where  the  cruel  speech 
And  mocking  finger  may  not  reach ! 

"  I  dare  not  breathe  my  mother's  name : 
A  daughter's  right  I  dare  not  crave 
To  weep  above  her  unblest  grave ! 

Let  me  not  live  until  my  heart. 
With  few  to  pity,  and  with  none 
To  love  me,  hardens  into  stone. 

O  God  !  have  mercy  on  thy  child, 

Whose  faith  in  thee  grows  weak  and  small 
And  take  me  ere  I  lose  it  all !  " 

A  shadow  on  the  moonlight  fell. 

And  murmuring  wind  and  wave  became 
A  voice  whose  burden  was  her  name. 

Had  then  God  heard  her?     Had  he  sent 


I 


ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS.  341 

His  angel  down  ?     In  flesh  and  blood 

Before  her  Esek  Harden  stood  ! 
He  laid  his  hand  upon  her  arm : 

"  Dear  Mabel,  this  no  more  shall  be ; 

Who  scoffs  at  you,  must  scoft"  at  me. 
You  know  rough  Esek  Harden  well ; 

And  if  he  seems  no  suitor  gay, 

And  if  his  hair  is  mixed  with  gray, 
The  maiden  grown  shall  never  find 

His  heart  less  warm  than  when  she  smiled 

Upon  his  knees,  a  little  child ! " 

Her  tears  of  grief  were  tears  of  joy, 

As,  folded  in  his  strong  embrace, 

She  looked  in  Esek  Harden's  face. 
"  O  truest  friend  of  all !  "  she  said, 

"  God  bless  you  for  your  kindly  thought, 

And  make  me  worthy  of  my  lot !  *' 

He  led  her  through  his  dewy  fields, 

To  where  the  swinging  lanterns  glowed, 
And  through  the  doors  the  buskers  showedo 

"  Good  friends  and  neighbors  ! ''  Esek  said, 
"  Fm  weary  of  this  lonely  life ; 
In  Mabel  see  my  chosen  wife ! 

"  She  greets  you  kindly,  one  and  all ; 

The  past  is  past,  and  all  offence 

Falls  harmless  from  her  innocence. 
Henceforth  she  stands  no  more  alone ; 

You  know  what  Esek  Harden  is ;  — 

He  brooks  no  wrong  to  him  or  his." 

Now  let  the  merriest  tales  be  told. 

And  let  the  sweetest  songs  be  sung, 

That  ever  made  the  old  heart  young! 
For  now  the  lost  has  found  a  home ; 

And  a  lone  hearth  shall  brighter  burn. 

As  all  the  household  joys  return  ! 


342  ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS. 

Oh,  pleasantly  the  harvest  moon, 
Between  the  shadow  of  the  mows, 
Looked  on  them  through  the  great  elm-boughs ! 

On  Mabel's  curls  of  golden  hair. 
On  Esek's  shaggy  strength,  it  fell, 
And  the  wind  whispered,  "  It  is  well !  " 

J.  G.  Whittier. 


SCENE  FROM  KING  HENRY  IV, 

[King  Henry  IV.,  Hotspur,  Worcester,  and  North- 
umberland.] 

King  Henry.     Henceforth 
Let  me  not  hear  you  speak  of  Mortimer : 
Send  me  your  prisoners  with  the  speediest  means, 
Or  you  shall  hear  in  such  a  kind  from  me 
As  will  displease  you.     My  lord  Northumberland, 
We  license  your  departure  with  your  son  :  — 
Send  us  your  prisoners,  or  you'll  hear  of  it. 

\^Exii  King  Henry. 

Hots-pur,     And  if  the  devil  come  and  roar  for  them, 
I  will  not  send  them  :  I  will  after  straight. 
And  tell  him  so  ;  for  I  will  ease  my  heart. 
Although  it  be  with  hazard  of  my  head. 

Northiimberland,     What!  drunk  with  choler?  stay,  and 
pause  awhile ;  — 
Here  comes  your  uncle.  [^^2/^ a- Worcester. 

Hot,  Speak  of  Mortimer  ! 

Zounds  !     I  will  speak  of  him,  and  let  my  soul 
Want  mercy,  if  I  do  not  join  with  him. 
Yea,  on  his  part,  Fll  empty  all  these  veins, 
And  shed  my  dear  blood  drop  by  drop  i'  the  dust, 
But  I  will  lift  the  down-trod  Mortimer 
As  high  i*  the  air  as  this  unthankful  king. 
As  this  ingrate  and  cankered  Bolingbroke. 


ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS.  343 

North,     (  To  Worcester.)     Brother,  the  king  hath  made 
your  nephew  mad. 

Worcester.     Who  struck  this  heat  up,  after  I  was  gone? 

Hot,     He  will,  forsooth,  have  all  vcvj  prisoners; 
And  when  I  urged  the  ransom  once  again 
Of  my  wife's  brother,  then  his  cheek  looked  pale. 
And  on  my  face  he  turned  an  eye  of  death, 
Trembling  even  at  the  name  of  Mortimer. 

Wor.     I  cannot  blame  him.     Was  he  not  proclaimed 
By  Richard  that  dead  is,  the  next  of  blood? 

North,     He  was  :  I  heard  the  proclamation  ; 
And  then  it  was  when  the  unhappy  king 
(Whose  wrongs  in  us  God  pardon  !)  did  set  forth 
Upon  his  Irish  expedition : 
From  whence  he,  intercepted,  did  return 
To  be  deposed,  and  shortly,  murdered. 

Wor,     And   for  whose   death    we    in   the  world's  wide 
mouth 
Live  scandalized  and  foully  spoken  of. 

But  now  I  will  unclasp  a  secret  book, 
And  to  your  quick-conceiving  discontents 
I'll  read  you  matter  deep  and  dangerous, 
As  full  of  peril  and  adventurous  spirit 
As  to  o'erwalk  a  current  roaring  loud, 
On  the  unsteadfast  footing  of  a  spear. 

Hot,     If  he  fall  in  good-night !  —  or  sink  or  swim, 
Send  danger  from  the  East  unto  the  West, 
So  honor  cross  it  from  the  North  to  South, 
And  let  them  grapple.     Oh,  the  blood  more  stirs 
To  rouse  a  lion  than  to  start  a  hare  ! 

North.     Imagination  of  some  great  exploit 
Drives  him  beyond  the  bounds  of  patience. 

Hot,     By  Heaven  !  methinks  it  were  an  easy  leap 
To  pluck  bright  honor  from  the  pale-faced  moon  ; 
Or  dive  into  the  bottom  of  the  deep. 
Where  fathom-line  could  never  touch  the  ground, 


344  ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS. 

And  pluck  up  drowned  honor  by  the  locks, 
So  he  that  doth  redeem  her  thence  might  wear, 
Without  corrival,  all  her  dignities  : 
But  out  upon  this  half-faced  fellowship  ! 

Wor,     He  apprehends  a  world  of  figures  here, 
But  not  the  form  of  what  he  should  attend. 
Good  cousin,  give  me  audience  for  a  while, 
And  list  to  me. 

Hot.  I  cry  you  mercy  : 

Wor.  Those  same  noble  Scots, 

That  are  your  prisoners  — 

Hot.  ril  keep  them  all, — 

By  Heaven  !  he  shall  not  have  a  Scot  of  them  : 
No,  if  a  Scot  would  save  his  soul,  he  shall  not : 
I'll  keep  them,  by  this  hand  !  Shakespeare. 


GOOD  READING   THE  GREATEST  ACCOMPLISH- 
MENT. 

There  is  one  accomplishment,  in  particular,  which  I 
would  earnestly  recommend  to  you.  Cultivate  assiduously 
the  ability  to  read  well.  I  stop  to  particularize  this,  because 
it  is  a  thing  so  very  much  neglected,  and  because  it  is  such 
an  elegant,  and  charming  accomplishment.  Where  one 
person  is  really  interested  by  music,  twenty  are  pleased  by 
good  reading.  Where  one  person  is  capable  of  becoming  a 
skilful  musician,  twenty  may  become  good  readers.  Where 
there  is  one  occasion  suitable  for  the  exercise  of  musical 
talent,  there  are  twenty  for  that  of  good  reading. 

The  culture  of  the  voice  necessary  for  reading  well,  gives 
a  delightful  charm  to  the  same  voice  in  conversation.  Good 
reading  is  the  natural  exponent  and  vehicle  of  all  good 
things.  It  is  the  most  efiective  of  all  commentaries  upon 
the  works  of  genius.     It  seems  to  bring  dead  authors  to  life 


ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS.  345 

again,  and  makes  us  sit  down  familiarly  with  the  great  and 
good  of  all  ages. 

Did  you  ever  notice  what  life  and  power  the  Holy  Scrip- 
tures have  when  w^ell  read?  Have  you  ever  heard  of  the 
wonderful  effects  produced  by  Elizabeth  Fry  on  the  crimi- 
nals of  Newgate,  by  simply  reading  to  them  the  parable  of 
the  Prodigal  Son?  Princes  and  peers  of  the  realm,  it  is 
said,  counted  it  a  privilege  to  stand  in  the  dismal  corridors, 
among  felons  and  murderers,  merely  to  share  with  them  the 
privilege  of  witnessing  the  marvellous  pathos  which  genius, 
taste,  and  culture  could  infuse  into  that  simple  story. 

What  a  fascination  there  is  in  really  good  reading !  What 
a  power  it  gives  one  !  In  the  hospital,  in  the  chamber  of  the 
invalid,  in  the  nursery,  in  the  domestic  and  in  the  social 
circle,  among  chosen  friends  and  companions,  how  it  enables 
you  to  minister  to  the  amusement,  the  comfort,  the  pleasure 
of  dear  ones,  as  no  other  art  or  accomplishment  can.  No 
instrument  of  man's  devising  can  reach  the  heart  as  does  that 
most  wonderful  instrument,  the  human  voice.  It  is  God's 
special  gift  and  endowment  to  his  chosen  creatures.  Fold  it 
not  away  in  a  napkin. 

If  you  would  double  the  value  of  all  your  other  acquisi- 
tions, if  you  would  add  immeasurably  to  your  own  enjoy- 
ment and  to  your  power  of  promoting  the  enjoyment  of 
others,  cultivate,  with  incessant  care,  this  divine  gift.  No 
music  below  the  skies  is  equal  to  that  of  pure,  silvery  speech 
from  the  lips  of  a  man  or  woman  of  high  culture. 

John  S.  Hart. 


346  ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS. 


THE  BALLAD   OF  BABIE  BELL, 

Have  you  not  heard  the  poets  tell 
How  came  the  dainty  Babie  Bell 

Into  this  world  of  ours? 
The  gates  of  heaven  were  left  ajar ; 
With  folded  hands  and  dreamy  eyes, 
Wandering  out  of  Paradise, 
She  saw  this  planet,  like  a  star, 

Hung  in  the  glistening  depths  of  even,— 
Its  bridges  running  to  and  fro. 
O'er  which  the  v/h.ite- winged  angels  go, 

Bearing  the  holy  dead  to  heaven. 
She  touched  a  bridge  of  flowers,  —  those  feet, 
So  light  they  did  not  bend  the  bells 
Of  the  celestial  asphodels  ! 
They  fell  like  dew  upon  the  flowers. 
Then  all  the  air  grew  strangely  sweet  — 
And  thus  came  dainty  Babie  Bell 

Into  this  world  of  ours. 
She  came  and  brought  delicious  May, 

The  swallows  built  beneath  the  eaves ; 

Like  sunlight  in  and  out  the  leaves, 
The  robins  went  the  livelong  day  ; 
The  lily  swung  its  noiseless  bell, 

And  o'er  the  porch  the  trembling  vine, 

Seemed  bursting  with  its  veins  of  wine. 
How  sweetly,  softly,  twilight  fell ! 
Oh,  earth  was  full  of  singing-birds. 
And  opening  spring-tide  flowers. 
When  the  dainty  Babie  Bell 

Cam.e  to  this  world  of  ours  ! 

O  Babie,  dainty  Babie  Bell, 
How  fair  she  grew  from  day  to  day ! 
What  woman-nature  filled  her  eyes, 
What  poetry  within  them  lay ! 


ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS.  347 

Those  deep  and  tender  twilight  eyes, 

So  fidl  of  meaning,  pure  and  bright, 

As  if  she  yet  stood  in  the  light 
Of  those  oped  gates  of  Paradise. 
And  so  we  loved  her  more  and  more  * 
Ah,  never  in  our  hearts  before 

Was  love  so  lovely  born  : 
We  felt  we  had  a  link  between 
This  real  world  and  that  unseen  — 

The  land  beyond  the  morn. 
And  for  the  love  of  those  dear  eyes. 
For  love  of  her  whonj  God  led  forth 
(The  mother's  being  ceased  on  earth 
(When  Babie  came  from  Paradise),  — 
For  love  of  Him  w^ho  smote  our  lives, 

And  woke  the  chords  of  joy  and  pain, 
We  said,  Dear  Christ  —  our  hearts  bent  down 

Like  violets  after  rain. 

And  now^  the  orchards,  which  were  white, 

And  red  with  blossoms  when  she  came. 

Were  rich  in  autumn's  mellow  prime. 

The  clustered  apples  burnt  like  flame. 

The  soft-cheeked  peaches  blushed  and  fell. 

The  ivory  chestnut  burst  its  shell, 

The  grapes  hung  purpling  in  the  grange  ; 

And  time  wrought  just  as  rich  a  change 
In  little  Babie  Bell. 

Her  lissome  form  more  perfect  grew, 

And  in  her  features  we  could  trace, 
In  softened  curves,  her  mother's  face ! 

Her  angel-nature  ripened  too. 

We  thought  her  lovely  when  she  came 

But  she  was  holy,  saintly  now  :  — 

Around  her  pale,  angelic  brow 

We  saw  a  slender  ring  of  flame. 


348  ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS. 

God's  hand  had  taken  away  the  seal 

That  held  the  portals  of  her  speech  ; 

And  oft  she  said  a  few  strange  words 

Whose  meaning  lay  beyond  our  reach. 

She  never  was  a  child  to  us, 

We  never  held  her  being's  key, 

We  could  not  teach  her  holy  things ; 
She  was  Christ's  self  in  purity. 

It  came  upon  us  by  degrees : 

We  saw  its  shadow  ere  it  fell. 

The  knowledge  that  our  God  had  sent 

His  messenger  for  Babie  Bell, 

We  shuddered  with  unlanguaged  pain, 

And  all  our  hopes  were  changed  to  fears, 

And  all  our  thoughts  ran  into  tears 

Like  sunshine  into  rain. 
We  cried  aloud  in  our  belief, 
''  Oh,  smite  us  gently,  gently,  God  ! 
Teach  us  to  bend  and  kiss  the  rod, 
And  perfect  grow  through  grief." 
Ah,  how  we  loved  her,  God  can  tell ; 
Her  heart  was  folded  deep  in  ours. 

Our  hearts  are  broken,  Babie  Bell ! 

At  last  he  came,  the  messenger, 

The  messenger  from  unseen  lands : 
And  what  did  dainty  Babie  Bell.? 
She  only  crossed  her  little  hands. 
She  only  looked  more  meek  and  fair ! 
We  parted  back  her  silken  hair. 
We  wove  tlie  roses  round  her  brow,  — 
White  buds,  the  summer's  drifted  snow,  — 
Wrapt  her  from  head  to  foot  in  flowers; 
And  then  went  dainty  Babie  Bell 
Out  of  this  world  of  ours  ! 

T.  B.  Aldrich. 


ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS.  349 


THE    TRIAL   OF  WARREN  HASTINGS. 

The  place  was  worthy  of  such  a  trial.  It  was  the  great 
hall  of  William  Rufus  ;  the  hall  which  had  resounded  with 
acclamations  at  the  inauguration  of  thirty  kings;  the  hall 
which  had  witnessed  the  just  sentence  of  Bacon,  and  the 
just  absolution  of  Somers  ;  the  hall  where  the  eloquence  of 
Straflbrd  had  for  a  moment  awed  and  melted  a  victorious 
party  inflamed  with  just  resentment ;  the  hall  where  Charles 
had  confronted  the  high  court  of  justice  with  the  placid 
courage  that  has  half  redeemed  his  fame. 

Neither  military  nor  civil  pomp  were  wanting.  The  av- 
enues were  lined  with  grenadiers.  The  streets  were  kept 
clear  b}'  cavalry.  The  peers,  robed  in  gold  and  ermine, 
were  marshalled  by  heralds  under  the  garter  king-at-arms. 
The  judges,  in  their  vestments  of  state,  attended  to  give  ad- 
vice on  points  of  law.  Near  a  hundred  and  seventy  lords, 
three-fourths  of  the  upper  house,  as  the  upper  house  then 
was,  walked  in  solemn  order  from  their  usual  place  of 
assembling  to  the  tribunal.  The  junior  baron  present  led 
the  way, —  George  Eliott,  Lord  Heathfield,  recently  enno- 
bled for  his  memorable  defence  of  Gibraltar  against  the 
fleets  and  armies  of  France  and  Spain.  The  long  proces- 
sion was  closed  by  the  Duke  of  Norfolk,  earl  marshal  of  the 
realm,  by  the  great  dignitaries,  and  by  the  brothers  and  the 
sons  of  the  king.  Last  of  all  came  the  Prince  of  Wales,  con- 
spicuous by  his  fine  person  and  noble  bearing. 

The  gray  old  walls  were  hung  with  scarlet.  The  long 
galleries  were  crowded  by  an  audience  such  as  has  rarely 
excited  the  fears  or  the  emulation  of  an  orator.  There  were 
gathered  together,  from  all  parts  of  a  great,  free,  enlight- 
ened, and  prosperous  empire,  grace  and  female  loveliness, 
wit  and  learning,  the  representatives  of  every  science  and 
of  every  art. 

There  were  seated  round  the  queen  the  fair-haired  young 


350  ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS. 

daughters  of  the  house  of  Brunswick.  There  the  ambassa- 
dors of  great  kings  and  commonwealths  gazed  with  admira- 
tion on  a  spectacle  which  no  other  country  in  the  world  could 
present.  There  Siddons,  in  the  prime  of  her  majestic  beauty, 
looked  with  emotion  on  a  scene  surpassing  all  the  imitations 
of  the  stage.  There  the  historian  of  the  Roman  Empire 
thought  of  the  days  when  Cicero  pleaded  the  cause  of  Sicily 
against  Verres,  and  when,  before  a  senate  that  still  retained 
some  show  of  freedom,  Tacitus  thundered  against  the  op- 
pressor of  Africa. 

There  were  seen,  side  by  side,  the  greatest  scholar  and  the 
greatest  painter  of  the  age.  The  spectacle  had  allured  Rey- 
nolds from  that  easel  which  has  preserved  to  us  the  thought- 
ful foreheads  of  so  many  writers  and  statesmen,  and  the  sweet 
smiles  of  so  many  noble  matrons.  It  had  induced  Parr  to 
suspend  his  labors  in  that  dark  and  profound  mine  from 
which  he  had  extracted  a  vast  treasure  of  erudition,  —  a 
treasure  too  often  buried  in  the  earth,  too  often  paraded  with 
injucjicious  and  inelegant  ostentation,  but  still  precious, 
massive,  and  splendid. 

There  appeared  the  voluptuous  charms  of  her  to  whom 
the  heir  of  the  throne  had  in  secret  plighted  his  faith. 
There,  too,  was  she,  the  beautiful  mother  of  a  beautiful 
race,  the  St.  Cecilia,  whose  delicate  features,  lighted  up  by 
love  and  music,  art  has  rescued  from  the  common  decay. 
There  were  the  members  of  that  brilliant  society  which 
quoted,  criticised,  and  exchanged  repartees,  under  the  rich 
peacock  hangings  of  Mrs.  Montague.  And  there  the  ladies, 
whose  lips,  more  persuasive  than  those  of  Fox  himself,  had 
carried  the  Westminster  election  against  palace  and  treasury, 
shone  round  Georgiana,  Duchess  of  Devonshire. 

The  sergeants  made  proclamation.  Hastings  advanced 
to  the  bar,  and  bent  his  knee.  The  culprit  was  indeed  not 
unworthy  of  that  great  presence.  He  had  ruled  an  exten- 
sive and  populous  country,  had  made  laws  and  treaties,  had 
sent  forth  armies,  had  set  up  and  pulled  down  princes.  And 
in  his  high  place  he  had  so  borne  himself  that  all  had  feared 


ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS.  351 

him,  that  most  had  loved  him,  and  that  hatred  itself  cotdd 
deny  him  no  title  to  glory,  except  virtue. 

He  looked  like  a  great  man,  and  not  like  a  bad  man.  A 
person  small  and  emaciated,  yet  deriving  dignity  from  a  car- 
riage which,  while  it  indicated  deference  to  the  court,  indi- 
cated also  habitual  self-possession  and  self-respect,  a  high 
and  intellectual  forehead,  a  brow  pensive,  but  not  gloomy,  a 
mouth  of  inflexible  decision,  a  face  pale  and  worn,  but  se- 
rene, —  such  was  the  aspect  with  which  the  great  proconsul 
presented  himself  to  his  judges. 

The  charges  and  the  answers  of  Hastings  were  first  read. 
The  ceremony  occupied  two  whole  days,  and  was  rendered 
less  tedious  than  it  would  otherwise  have  been,  by  the  silver 
voice  and  just  emphasis  of  Cowper,  the  clerk  of  the  court,  a 
near  relation  of  the  amiable  poet. 

On  the  third  day  Burke  rose.  Four  sittings  were  occupied 
by  his  opening  speech,  which  was  intended  to  be  a  general 
introduction  to  all  the  charges.  With  an  exuberance  of 
thought  and  a  splendor  of  diction  which  more  than  satis- 
fied the  highly  raised  expectation  of  the  audience,  he  de- 
scribed the  character  and  institutions  of  the  natives  of  India, 
recounted  the  circumstances  in  which  the  Asiatic  empire  of 
Britain  had  originated,  and  set  forth  the  constitution  of  the 
company,  and  of  the  English  presidencies. 

Having  thus  attempted  to  communicate  to  his  hearers  an 
idea  of  Eastern  society  as  vivid  as  that  which  existed  in  his 
own  mind,  he  proceeded  to  arraign  the  administration  of 
Hastings,  as  systematically  conducted  in  defiance  of  morality 
and  public  law.  The  energy  and  pathos  of  the  great  orator 
extorted  expressions  of  unwonted  admiration  from  the  stern 
and  hostile  chancellor,  and,  for  a  moment,  seemed  to  pierce 
even  the  resolute  heart  of  the  defendant.  The  ladies  in  the 
galleries,  unaccustomed  to  such  displays  of  eloquence,  ex- 
cited by  the  solemnity  of  the  occasion,  and  perhaps  not 
unwilling  to  display  their  taste  and  sensibility,  were  in  a 
state  of  uncontrollable  emotion.  Handkerchiefs  were  pulled 
out;    smelling-bottles  were  handed  round;    hysterical   sobs 


352  ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS. 

and  screams  were  heard,  and  Mrs.  Sheridan  was  carried  out 
m  a  fit. 

At  length  the  orator  concluded.  Raising  his  voice  till  the 
old  arches  of  Irish  oak  resounded,  "  Therefore,"  said  he, 
"  hath  it  with  all  confidence  been  ordered  by  the  Commons 
of  Great  Britain,  that  I  impeach  Warren  Hastings  of  high 
crimes  and  misdemeanors.  I  impeach  him  in  the  name  of 
the  Commons*  House  of  Parliament,  whose  trust  he  has  be- 
trayed. I  impeach  him  in  the  name  of  the  English  nation, 
whose  ancient  honor  he  has  sullied.  I  impeach  him  in  the 
name  of  the  people  of  India,  whose  rights  he  has  trodden 
under  foot,  and  whose  country  he  has  turned  into  a  desert. 
Lastly,  in  the  name  of  human  nature  itself,  in  the  name  of 
both  sexes,  in  the  name  of  every  age,  in  the  name  of  every 
rank,  I  impeach  the  common  enemy  and  oppressor  of  all." 

T.  B.  Macaulay. 


PERORATION  OF  .OPENING  SPEECH  AGAINST 
WARREN  HASTINGS. 

In  the  name  of  the  Commons  of  England,  I  charge  all 
this  villany  upon  Warren  Hastings,  in  this  last  moment  of 
my  application  to  you. 

My  Lords,  what  is  it  that  we  want  here  to  a  great  act  of 
national  justice?  Do  we  want  a  cause,  my  Lords?  You 
have  the  cause  of  oppressed  princes,  of  undone  women  of 
the  first  rank,  of  desolated  provinces,  and  of  wasted  king- 
doms. 

Do  you  want  a  criminal,  my  Lords?  When  was  there  so 
much  iniquity  ever  laid  to  the  charge  of  any  one  ?  No,  my 
Lords,  you  must  not  look  to  punish  any  other  such  delin- 
quent from  India.  Warren  Hastings  has  not  left  substance 
enough  in  India  to  nourish  such  another  delinquent. 

My  Lords,  is  it  a  prosecutor  you  want?  You  have  before 
you  the  Commons  of  Great  Britain  as  prosecutors  ;    and  I 


ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS.  353 

believe,  my  Lords,  that  the  sun,  in  his  beneficent  progress 
round  the  world,  does  not  behold  a  more  glorious  sight  than 
that  of  men,  separated  from  a  remote  people  by  the  material 
bounds  and  barriers  of  nature,  united  by  the  bond  of  a  social 
and  moral  community  —  all  the  Commons  of  England  re- 
senting, as  their  own,  the  indignities  and  cruelties,  that  are 
offered  to  all  the  people  of  India. 

Do  we  want  a  tribunal  ?  My  Lords,  no  example  of  anti- 
quity, nothing  in  the  modern  world,  nothing  in  the  range  of 
human  imagination,  can  supply  us  with  a  tribunal  like  this. 
My  Lords,  here  we  see  virtually,  in  the  mind's  eye,  that 
sacred  majesty  of  the  Crown,  under  whose  authority  you  sit 
and  whose  power  you  exercise. 

We  have  here  all  the  branches  of  the  royal  family,  in  a 
situation  between  majesty  and  subjection,  between  the  sover- 
eign and  the  subject  —  offering  a  pledge,  in  that  situation, 
for  the  support  of  the  rights  of  the  Crown  and  the  liberties 
of  the  people,  both  which  extremities  they  touch. 

My  Lords,  we  have  a  great  hereditary  peerage  here ; 
those  who  have  their  own  honor,  the  honor  of  their  ances- 
tors, and  of  their  posterity,  to  guard,  and  who  will  justify, 
aj  they  always  have  justified,  that  provision  in  the  Constitu- 
tion by  which  justice  is  made  an  hereditary  office. 

My  Lords,  we  have  here  a  new  nobility,  who  have  risen, 
and  exalted  themselves  by  various  merits,  by  great  civil  and 
military  services,  which  have  extended  the  fame  of  this 
country  from  the  rising  to  the  setting  sun. 

My  Lords,  you  have  here,  also,  the  lights  of  our  religion  ; 
you  have  the  bishops  of  England.  My  Lords,  you  have  that 
true  image  of  the  primitive  Church  in  its  ancient  form,  in 
its  ancient  ordinances,  purified  from  the  superstitions  and 
the  vices  which  a  long  succession  of  ages  will  bring  upon 
the  best  institutions. 

My  Lords,  these  are   the  securities  which  we  have  in  all 

the  constituent  parts  of  the  body  of  this  House.     We  know 

them,  we  reckon,  we  rest  upon    them,   and    commit  safely 

the    interests   of  India    and  of   humanity   into   your    hands. 

23 


354  ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS. 

Therefore,  it  is  with  confidence,  that,  ordered  by  the  Com- 
mons, 

I  impeach  Warren  Hastings,  Esquire,  of  high  crimes  and 
misdemeanors. 

I  impeach  him  in  the  name  of  the  Commons  of  Great 
Britain,  in  Parliament  assembled,  whose  parliamentary  trust 
he  has  betrayed. 

I  impeach  him  in  the  name  of  all  the  Commons  of  Great 
Britain,  whose  national  character  he  has  dishonored. 

I  impeach  him  in  the  name  of  the  people  of  India,  whose 
laws,  rights,  and  liberties  he  has  subverted,  whose  property 
lie  has  destroyed,  whose  country  he  has  laid  waste  and  deso- 
late. 

I  impeach  him  in  the  name,  and  by  virtue  of  those  eternal 
laws  of  justice  which  he  has  violated. 

I  impeach  him  in  the  name  of  human  nature  itself,  which 
he  has  cruelly  outraged,  injured  and  oppressed,  in  both  sexes, 
in  every  age,  rank,  situation,  and  condition  of  life. 

My  Lords,  the  Commons  will  share  in  every  fate  with  your 
Lordships  ;  there  is  nothing  sinister  which  can  happen  to  you, 
in  which  we  shall  not  be  involved;  and,  if  it  should  so  hap- 
pen, that  we  shall  be  subjected  to  some  of  those  frightful 
changes  which  we  have  seen  ;  if  it  should  happen  that  your 
Lordships,  stripped  of  all  the  decorous  distinctions  of  human 
society,  should,  by  hands  at  once  base  and  cruel,  be  led  to 
those  scaffolds  and  machines  of  murder  upon  which  great 
kings  and  glorious  queens  have  shed  their  blood,  amidst  the 
prelates,  amidst  the  nobles,  amidst  the  magistrates,  who  sup- 
ported their  thrones,  —  may  you  in  those  moments  feel  that 
consolation  which  I  am  persuaded  they  felt  in  the  critical 
moments  of  their  dreadful  agony  ! 

My  Lords,  there  is  a  consolation,  and  a  great  consolation 
it  is,  which  often  happens  to  oppressed  virtue  and  fallen  dig- 
nity ;  it  often  happens  that  the  very  oppressors  and  perse- 
cutors tliemselves  are  forced  to  bear  testimony  in  its  favor. 
The  Parliament  of  Paris  had  an  origin  very,  very  similar  to 
that  of  the  great  court  before  which  I  stand  ;  the  Parliament 


ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS.  355 

of  Paris  continued  to  have  a  great  resemblance  to  it  in  its 
Constitution,  even  to  its  tall ;  the  Parliament  of  Paris,  my 
Lords,  —  WAS  ;  it  is  gone  !  It  has  passed  away  ;  it  has  van- 
islied  like  a  dream  !  It  fell  pierced  by  the  sword  of  the 
Compte  de  Mirabeau.  And  yet  that  man,  at  the  time  of  his 
inflicting  the  death-wound  of  that  Parliament,  produced  at 
once  the  shortest  and  the  grandest  funeral  oration  that  ever 
was  or  could  be  made  upon  the  departure  of  a  great  court  of 
magistracy.  When  he  pronounced  the  death  sentence  upon 
that  Parliament,  and  inflicted  the  mortal  wound,  he  declared 
that  his  motives  for  doing  it  were  merely  political,  and  that 
their  hands  were  as  pure  as  those  of  justice  itself,  which 
they  administered  —  a  great  and  glorious  exit,  my  Lords,  of 
a  great  and  glorious  body  ! 

My  Lords,  if  you  must  fall,  may  you  so  fall !  But,  if  you 
stand,  and  stand  I  trust  you  will,  together  with  the  fortunes 
of  this  ancient  monarchy  —  together  with  the  ancient  laws 
and  liberties  of  this  great  and  illustrious  kingdom,  may  you 
stand  as  unimpeached  in  honor  as  in  power  ;  may  you  stand, 
not  as  a  substitute  for  virtue,  but  as  an  ornament  of  virtue, 
as  a  security  for  virtue  ;  may  you  stand  long,  and  long  stand 
the  terror  of  tyrants  ;  may  you  stand  the  refuge  of  afflicted 
Nations  ;  may  you  stand  a  sacred  temple,  for  the  perpetual 
residence  of  an  inviolable  justice  !  Burke. 


THE  LAUNCHING   OF   THE  SHIP. 

All  is  finished,  and  at  length 

Has  come  the  bridal  day 

Of  beauty  and  of  strength. 

To-day  the  vessel  shall  be  launched ! 

With  fleecy  clouds  the  sky  is  blanched 

And  o'er  the  bay, 

Slowly,  in  all  his  splendors  dight. 

The  great  sun  rises  to  behold  the  sight. 


356  ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS- 

The  ocean  old, 

Centuries  old, 

Strong  as  youth,  and  as  uncontrolled, 

Paces  restless  to  and  fro, 

Up  and  down  the  sands  of  gold. 

His  beating  heart  is  not  at  rest; 

And  far  and  wide 

With  ceaseless  flow 

His  beard  of  snow 

Heaves  with  the  heaving  of  his  breast. 

He  waits  impatient  for  his  bride. 

There  she  stands. 

With  her  foot  upon  the  sands, 

Decked  with  flags  and  streamers  gay, 

In  honor  of  her  marriage-day. 

Her  snow-white  signals  fluttering,  blending, 

Round  her  like  a  veil  descending, 

Ready  to  be 

The  bride  of  the  gray  old  sea. 

Then  the  Master, 

With  a  gesture  of  command, 

Waved  his  hand  ; 

And  at  the  word, 

Loud  and  sudden  there  was  heard, 

All  around  them  and  below, 

The  sound  of  hammers,  blow  on  blow. 

Knocking  away  the  shores  and  spurs. 

And  see  !  she  stirs  ! 

She  starts,  —  she  moves, she  seems  to  feel 

The  thrill  of  life  along  her  keel. 
And,  spurning  with  her  foot  the  ground. 
With  one  exulting,  joyous  bound, 
She  leaps  into  the  ocean's  arms. 
And  lo  !  from  the  assembled  crowd 
There  rose  a  shout,  prolonged  and  loud, 


ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS.  357 

That  to  the  ocean  seemed  to  say, 

"  Take  her,  O  bridegroom,  old  and  gray ; 

Take  her  to  thy  protecting  arms, 

With  all  her  youth  and  all  her  charms." 

How  beautiful  she  is  !  how  fair 

She  lies  within  those  arms,  that  press 

Her  form  with  many  a  soft  caress 

Of  tenderness  and  watchful  care  ! 

Sail  forth  into  the  sea,  O  ship  ! 

Through  wind  and  wave,  right  onward  steer; 

The  moistened  eye,  the  trembling  lip, 

Are  not  the  signs  of  doubt  or  fear. 

Sail  forth  into  the  sea  of  life. 
Oh,  gentle,  loving,  trusting  wife, 
And  safe  from  all  adversity, 
Upon  the  bosom  of  that  sea 
Thy  comings  and  thy  goings  be ! 
For  gentleness,  and  love,  and  trust, 
Prevail  o'er  angry  wave  and  gust; 
And  in  the  wreck  of  noble  lives 
Something  immortal  still  survives ! 

Thou,  too,  sail  on,  O  ship  of  state! 
Sail  on,  O  Union,  strong  and  great! 
Humanity,  with  all  its  fears. 
With  all  its  hopes  of  future  years, 
Is  hanging  breathless  on  thy  fate  I 
We  know  what  Master  laid  thy  keel, 
What  workmen  wrought  thy  ribs  of  steel. 
Who  made  each  mast,  and  sail  and  rope, 
What  anvils  rang,  what  hammers  beat. 
In  what  a  forge,  and  what  a  heat, 
Were  shaped  the  anchors  of  thy  hope. 

Fear  not  each  sudden  sound  and  shock ; 
*Tis  of  the  wave,  and  not  the  rock ; 


358  ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS. 

'Tis  but  the  flapping  of  the  sail, 

And  not  a  rent  made  by  the  gale. 

In  spite  of  rock  and  tempest  roar, 

In  spite  of  false  lights  on  the  shore. 

Sail  on,  nor  fear  to  breast  the  sea. 

Our  hearts,  our  hopes,  are  all  with  thee : 

Our  hearts,  our  hopes,  our  prayers,  our  tears, 

Our  faith  trimphant  o'er  our  fears. 

Are  all  with  thee  —  are  all  with  thee. 

Longfellow. 


THE   CHARCOAL  MAN. 

Though  rudely  blows  the  wintry  blast, 
And  sifting  snows  fall  white  and  fast, 
Mark  Haley  drives  along  the  street. 
Perched  high  upon  his  wagon  seat; 
His  sombre  face  the  storm  defies. 
And  thus  from  morn  till  eve  he  cries, — 

"  Charco' !  charco'  !  " 
While  echo  faint  and  far  replies, — 

"  Hark,  O  !  hark,  O  !  " 
"  Charco' !  " —  "  Hark,  O  !  " —  Such  cheery  sounds 
Attend  him  on  his  daily  rounds. 

The  dust  begrimes  his  ancient  hat ; 

His  coat  is  darker  far  than  that ; 

'Tis  odd  to  see  his  sooty  form 

All  speckled  with  the  feathery  storm  ; 

Yet  in  his  honest  bosom  lies 

Nor  spot,  nor  speck,  —  though  still  he  cries, — 

"  Charco' !  charco' !  " 
And  many  a  roguish  lad  replies,  — 

"  Ark,  ho  !  ark,  ho  !  " 
"  Charco' !  " —  "  Ark,  ho  !  " —  Such  various  sounds 
Announce  Mark  Haley's  morning  rounds. 


ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS.  359 

Thus  all  the  cold  and  wintry  day 
He  labors  much  for  little  pay; 
Yet  feels  no  less  of  happiness 
Than  many  a  richer  man,  I  guess, 
When  through  the  shades  of  eve  he  spies 
The  light  of  his  own  home,  and  cries,  — 

"  Charco' !  charco' !  '' 
And  Martha  from  the  door  replies,  — 

''  Mark,  ho  !  Mark,  ho  !  " 
"  Charco' !  "  —  "  Mark,  ho  !  "  —  Such  joy  abounds 
When  he  has  closed  his  daily  rounds. 

The  hearth  is  warm,  the  fire  is  bright 

And  while  his  hand,  washed  clean  and  white, 

Holds  Martha's  tender  hand  once  more, 

His  glowing  face  bends  fondly  o'er 

The  crib  wherein  his  darling  lies, 

And  in  a  coaxing  tone  he  cries, 

''  Charco  !  "  charco  !  " 
And  baby  with  a  laugh  replies,  — 

''Ah,  go!  ah,  go!" 
"  Charco' !  "—  "  Ah,  go  !  " —  while  at  the  sounds 
The  mother's  heart  with  gladness  bounds. 

Then  honored  be  the  charcoal  man  ! 
Though  dusky  as  an  African, 
'Tis  not  for  you,  that  chance  to  be 
A  little  better  clad  than  he, 
His  honest  manhood  to  despise, 
Although  from  morn  till  eve  he  cries,—- 

"  Charco' !  charco' !  " 
While  mocking  echo  still  replies,  — 

''  Hark,  O  !  hark,  O  !  " 
"  Charco'  !  "  —  "  Hark,  O  !  " —  Long  may  the  sounds 
Proclaim  Mark  Haley's  daily  rounds ! 

J.  T.  Trowbridge. 


360  ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS. 


THE    CRICKET   ON  THE  HEARTH 

The  Kettle  began  it !  Don't  tell  me  what  Mrs.  Peery- 
bingle  said.  I  know  better.  Mrs.  Peerybingle  may  leave  it 
on  record  to  the  end  of  time  that  she  couldn't  say  which  of 
them  began  it ;  but  I  say  the  Kettle  did.  I  ought  to  know, 
I  hope  !  The  Kettle  began  it,  full  five  minutes  by  the  little 
waxy-faced  Dutch  clock  in  the  corner,  before  the  Cricket 
uttered  a  chirp. 

Why,  I  am  not  naturally  positive.  Every  one  knows  that 
I  wouldn't  set  my  own  opinion  against  the  opinion  of  Mrs. 
Peerybingle,  unless  I  were  quite  sure,  on  any  account  what- 
ever. Nothing  should  induce  me.  But  this  is  a  question  of 
fact.  And  the  fact  is,  that  the  Kettle  began  it,  at  least  ^wo: 
minutes  before  the  Cricket  gave  any  sign  of  being  in  exist- 
ence.    Contradict  me,  and  I'll  say  ten. 

Let  me  narrate  exactly  how  it  happened.  I  should  have 
proceeded  to  do  so,  in  my  very  first  word,  but  for  this  plain 
consideration,  —  if  I  am  to  tell  a  story  I  must  begin  at  the 
beginning;  and  how  is  it  possible  to  begin  at  the  beginning, 
without  beginning  at  the  Kettle? 

It  appears  as  if  there  were  a  sort  of  match,  or  trial  of  skill, 
you  must  understand,  between  the  Kettle  and  the  Cricket. 
And  this  is  what  led  to  it,  and  how  it  came  about. 

Mrs.  Peerybingle,  going  out  into  the  raw  twilight  and  click- 
ing over  the  wet  stones  in  a  pair  of  pattens  that  worked  in- 
numerable rough  impressions  of  the  first  proposition  in 
Euclid  all  about  the  yard,  —  Mrs.  Peerybingle  filled  the 
kettle  at  the  water-butt.  Presently  returning,  less  the  pattens 
(and  a  good  deal  less,  for  they  were  tall,  and  Mrs.  Peerybingle 
was  but  short),  she  set  the  kettle  on  the  fire. 

In  doing  which  she  lost  her  temper,  or  mislaid  it  for  an 
instant;  for  the  water,  being  uncomfortably  cold,  and  in  that 
slippy,  slushy,  sleety  sort  of  state  wherein  it  seems  to  pene- 
trate through  every  kind  of  substance,  patten-rings  included. 


ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS.  361 

had  laid  hold  of  Mrs.  Peerybingle's  toes,  and  even  splashed 
her  stockings. 

Besides,  the  Kettle  was  aggravating  and  obstinate.  It 
wouldn't  allow  itself  to  be  adjusted  on  the  top  bar ;  it 
wouldn't  hear  of  accommodating  itself  kindly  to  the  knobs  of 
coal  ;  it  would  lean  forward  with  a  drunken  air,  and  dribble, 
a  very  idiot  of  a  Kettle,  on  the  hearth.  It  was  quarrelsome, 
and  hissed  and  spluttered  morosely  at  the  fire. 

To  sum  up  all,  the  lid,  resisting  Mrs.  Peerybingle's  fingers, 
first  of  all  turned  topsy-turvy,  and  then  with  an  ingenious 
pertinacity  deserving  of  a  better  cause,  dived  sideways  in, — 
down  to  the  very  bottom  of  the  Kettle.  And  the  hull  of  the 
Royal  George  has  never  made  half  the  monstrous  resistance 
to  coming  out  of  the  water,  which  the  lid  of  that  kettle  em- 
ployed against  Mrs.  Peerybingle,  before  she  got  it  up  again. 

It  looked  sullen  and  pig-headed  enough,  even  then  ;  carry- 
ing its  handle  with  an  air  of  defiance,  and  cocking  its  spout 
pertly  and  mockingly  at  Mrs.  Peerybingle,  as  if  it  said,  ''  I 
won't  boil.     Nothing  shall  induce  me  !  " 

Now  it  was,  you  observe,  that  the  Kettle  began  to  spend 
the  evening.  Now  it  was,  that  the  Kettle,  growing  mellow 
and  musical,  began  to  have  irrepressible  gurglings  in  its 
throat,  and  to  indulge  in  short  vocal  snorts,  which  it  checked 
in  the  bud,  as  if  it  hadn't  quite  made  up  its  mind  yet  to  be 
good  company.  Now  it  was,  that  after  two  or  three  such 
vain  attempts  to  stifle  its  convivial  sentiments,  it  threw  oft^all 
moroseness,  all  reserve,  and  burst  into  a  stream  of  song  so 
cosey  and  hilarious,  as  never  maudlin  nightingale  yet  formed 
the  least  idea  of. 

And  here,  if  you  like,  the  Cricket  did  chime  in  with  a 
chirrup,  chirrup,  chirrup  of  such  magnitude,  by  way  of 
chorus,  —  with  a  voice  so  astoundingly  disproportionate  to 
its  size  as  compared  with  the  Kettle  (size  !  you  couldn't  see 
it!)  that  if  it  had  tiien  and  there  burst  itself  like  an  over- 
charged gun,  if  it  had  fallen  a  victim  on  the  spot,  and  chir- 
ruped its  little  body  into  fifty  pieces,  it  would  have  seemed  a 


362  ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS. 

natural  and  inevitable  consequence,  for  which  it  had  ex- 
pressly labored. 

There  was  all  the  excitement  of  a  race  about  it.  Chirp, 
chirp,  chirp  !  Cricket  a  mile  ahead.  Hum,  hum,  hum  — 
m  —  m!  Kettle  making  play  in  the  distance,  like  a  great 
top.  Chirp,  chirp,  chirp  !  Cricket  round  the  corner.  Hum, 
hum,  hum  —  m  —  m  !  Kettle  sticking  to  him  in  his  own  way  ; 
no  idea  of  giving  in.  Chirp,  chirp,  chirp  !  Cricket  fresher  than 
ever.  Hum,  hum,  hum  —  m  —  m  !  Kettle  slow  and  steady. 
Chirp,  chirp,  chirp!  Cricket  going  in  to  finish  him.  Hum, 
hum,  hum  —  m  —  m  !  Kettle  not  to  be  finished.  Until  at  last, 
they  got  so  jumbled  together,  in  the  hurry-skurry,  helter- 
skelter  of  the  match,  that  whether  the  Kettle  chirped  and  the 
Cricket  hummed,  or  the  Cricket  chirped  and  the  Kettle 
hummed,  or  they  both  chirped  and  both  hummed,  it  would 
have  taken  a  clearer  head  than  yours  or  mine  to  decide  with 
anything  like  certainty. 

But  of  this  there  is  no  doubt,  that  the  Kettle  and  the 
Cricket,  at  one  and  the  same  moment,  and  by  some  power 
of  amalgamation  best  known  to  themselves,  sent  each  his 
fireside  song  of  comfort  streaming  into  a  ray  of  the  candle 
that  shone  out  through  the  window,  and  a  long  way  down 
the  lane.  And  this  light,  bursting  on  a  certain  person  who, 
on  the  instant,  approached  towards  it  through  the  gloom, 
expressed  the  whole  thing  to  him,  literally  in  a  twinkling, 
and  cried,  Welcome  hom.e,  old  fellow  !  Welcome  home,  my 
bov  I  Dickens. 


THE  KEEPING  OF  THE  BRIDGE, 

Out  spake  the  Consul  roundly  : 

"  The  bridge  must  straight  go  down  ; 

For,  since  Janiculum  is  lost. 

Naught  else  can  save  the  town." 


ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS.  363 

Then  out  spake  brave  Horatius, 

The  Captain  of  the  gate  : 
"  To  every  man  upon  this  earth 

Death  cometh  soon  or  late. 
And  how^  can  man  die  better 

Than  facing  fearful  odds, 
For  the  ashes  of  his  fathers, 

And  the  temples  of  his  gods? 

"  Hew^  dov^^n  the  bridge,  Sir  Consul, 

With  all  the  speed  you  may  ; 
I,  with  two  more  to  help  me. 

Will  hold  the  foe  in  play. 
In  yon  straight  path  a  thousand 

May  well  be  stopped  by  three. 
Now,  who  will  stand  on  either  hand, 

And  keep  the  bridge  with  me?" 

Then  out  spake  Spurius  Lartius,  — 

A  Ramnian  proud  was  he  : 
"  Lo,  I  will  stand  on  thy  right  hand, 

And  keep  the  bridge  with  thee." 
And  out  spake  strong  Herminius, — 

Of  Titian  blood  was  he  : 
*' I  will  abide  on  tiiv  left  side, 

And  keep  the  bridge  with  thee." 

"  Horatius,"  quoth  the  Consul, 

'^  As  thou  say'st,  so  let  it  be." 
And  straight  against  that  great  array 

Forth  went  the  dauntless  tiiree. 
For  Romans,  in  Rome's  quarrel. 

Spared  neither  land  nor  gold. 
Nor  son  nor  wife,  nor  limb  nor  life- 

In  the  brave  days  of  old. 

The  three  stood  calm  and  silent. 

And  looked  upon  the  foes. 
And  a  great  shout  of  laughter 

From  all  the  vanguard  rose. 


364  ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS. 

But  soon  Etruria*s  noblest 
Felt  their  hearts  sink  to  see 

On  the  earth  the  bloody  corpses, 
In  the  path  the  dauntless  three ! 

Meanwhile  the  axe  and  lever 

Have  manfully  been  plied, 
And  now  the  bridge  hangs  tottering 

Above  the  boiling  tide. 
"  Come  back,  come  back,  Horatius  ! " 

Loud  cried  the  Fathers  all ; 
"  Back,  Lartius  !  back,  Herminius  ! 

Back,  ere  the  ruin  fall  ! " 

Back  darted  Spurius  Lartius  ; 

Herminius  darted  back  ; 
And,  as  they  passed,  beneath  their  feet 

They  felt  the  timbers  crack. 
But  wlien  they  turned  their  faces. 

And  on  the  farther  shore 
Saw  brave  Horatius  stand  alone, 

They  would  have  crossed  once  more. 

But,  with  a  crash  like  thunder, 

Fell  every  loosened  beam, 
And,  like  a  dam,  the  mighty  wreck 

Lay  right  athwart  the  stream  ; 
And  a  long  shout  of  triumph 

Rose  from  the  walls  of  Rome, 
As  to  the  highest  turret-tops  » 

Was  splashed  the  yellow  foam. 

And,  like  a  horse  unbroken, 

When  first  he  feels  the  rein. 
The  furious  river  struggled  hard, 

And  tossed  his  tawny  mane. 
And  burst  the  curb,  and  bounded. 

Rejoicing  to  be  free. 
And  battlement,  and  plank,  and  pier, 

Whirled  headlong  to  the  sea. 


b 


ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS.  365 

Alone  stood  brave  Horatius, 

But  constant  still  in  mind  ; 
Thrice  thirty  thousand  foes  before, 

And  the  broad  flood  behind. 
''  Down  with  him  !  '*  cried  false  Sextus, 

With  a  smile  on  his  pale  face, 
"  Now  yield  thee  !  '*  cried  Lars  Porsena, 

"  Now  yield  thee  to  our  grace.'* 

Round  turned  he,  as  not  deigning 

Those  craven  ranks  to  see ; 
Naught  spake  he  to  Lars  Porsena, 

To  Sextus  naught  spake  he ; 
But  he  saw  on  Palatinus 

The  white  porch  of  his  home; 
And  he  spake  to  the  noble  river 

That  rolls  by  the  towers  of  Rome  :  — 

''  O  Tiber  !  Father  Tiber ! 

To  whom  the  Romans  pray ! 
A  Roman's  life,  a  Roman's  arms, 

Take  thou  in  charge  this  day !  " 
So  he  spake,  and,  speaking,  sheathed 

The  good  sword  by  his  side. 
And,  with  his  harness  on  his  back, 

Plunged  headlong  in  the  tide. 

No  sound  of  joy  or  sorrow 

Was  heard  from  either  bank ; 
But  friends  and  foes,  in  dumb  surprise. 
With  parted  lips  and  straining  eyes, 

Stood  gazing  where  he  sank  ; 
And  when  above  the  surges 

They  saw  his  crest  appear, 
All  Rome  sent  forth  a  rapturous  cry. 
And  even  the  ranks  of  Tuscany 

Could  scarce  forbear  to  cheer. 


366  ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS. 

''  Out  on  him  !  "  quoth  false  Sextus  ; 

"  Will  not  the  villain  drown? 
But  for  this  stay,  ere  close  of  day 

We  should  have  sacked  the  town  !  '*. 
"  Heaven  help  him  !  "  quoth  Lars  Porsena, 

"  And  bring  him  safe  to  shore  ; 
For  such  a  gallant  feat  of  arms 

Was  never  seen  before." 

But  fiercely  ran  the  current, 

Swollen  high  by  months  of  rain; 
And  fast  his  blood  was  flowing ; 

And  he  was  sore  in  pain. 
And  heavy  with  his  armor. 

And  spent  with  changing  blows: 
And  oft  they  thought  him  sinking. 

But  still  again  he  rose. 

And  now  the  ground  he  touches. 

Now  on  dry  earth  he  stands ; 
Now  round  him  throng  the  Fathers, 

To  press  his  gory  hands ; 
And  now,  with  shouts  and  clapping, 

And  noise  of  weeping  loud, 

He  enters  through  the  River-Gate, 

Borne  by  the  joyous  crowd. 

T.  B.  Macaulay. 


AUX  ITA LIENS, 


At  Paris  it  was,  at  the  Opera  there ; 

And  she  lool^ed  like  a  queen  in  a  book,  that  night, 
With  the  wreath  of  pearl  in  her  raven  hair, 

And  the  brooch  on  her  breast,  so  bright. 

Of  all  the  operas  that  Verdi  wrote, 

The  best,  to  my  taste,  is  the  Trovatore  ; 

And  Mario  can  soothe  with  a  tenor  note 
The  souls  in  purgatory. 


ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS.-  367 

The  moon  on  the  tower  slept  soft  as  snow  ; 

And  who  was  not  thrilled  in  the  strangest  way, 
As  we  heard  him  sing,  while  the  gas  burned  low, 

''  Non  ti  scordar  di  me?  " 

The  Emperor  there,  in  his  box  of  state. 
Looked  grave,  as  if  he  had  just  then  seen 

The  red  flag  wave  from  the  city  gate, 
Where  his  eagles  in  bronze  had  been. 

The  Empress,  too,  had  a  tear  in  her  eye: 

You'd  have  said  that  her  fancy  had  gone  back  again^ 
For  one  moment,  under  the  old  blue  sky. 

To  the  old  glad  life  in  Spain. 

Well  !  there  in  our  front-row  box  we  sat 

Together,  my  bride-betrothed  and  I ; 
My  gaze  was  fixed  on  my  opera  hat, 

And  hers  on  the  stage  hard  by. 

And  both  were  silent,  and  both  were  sad. 

Like  a  queen,  she  leaned  on  her  full  white  arm, 
With  that  regal,  indolent  air  she  had  ; 

So  confident  of  her  charm  !    - 

I  have  not  a  doubt  she  was  thinking  then 
Of  her  former  lord,  good  soul  that  he  was ! 

Who  died  the  richest  and  roundest  of  men. 
The  Marquis  of  Carabas. 

I  hope  that  to  get  to  the  kingdom  of  heaven, 
Through  a  needle's  eye  he  had  not  to  pass ; 

I  wish  him  well  for  the  jointure  given 
To  my  lady  of  Carabas. 

Meanwhile  I  was  thinking  of  my  first  love. 
As  I  had  not  been  thinking  of  aught  for  years. 

Till  over  my  eyes  there  began  to  move 
Something  that  felt  like  tears. 


368  ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS. 

I  thought  of  the  dress  that  she  wore  hxst  time, 

When  we  stood,  'neath  the  cypress-trees,  together, 

In  that  lost  Land,  in  that  soft  chme. 
In  the  crimson  evening  weather ; 

Of  that  muslin  dress  (for  the  eve  was  hot), 

And  her  warm  white  neck  in  its  golden  chain, 

And  her  full,  soft  hair,  just  tied  in  a  knot, 
And  falling  loose  again  ; 

And  the  jasmin-fiower  in  her  fair  young  breast ; 

Oh,  the  faint,  sweet  smell  of  that  jasmin-flower ! 
And  the  one  bird  singing  alone  to  his  nest. 

And  the  one  star  over  the  tower. 

I  thought  of  our  little  quarrels  and  strife. 

And  the  letter  that  brought  me  back  my  ring. 

And  it  all  seemed  then,  in  the  waste  of  life, 
Such  a  very  little  thing ! 

For  I  thought  of  her  grave  below  the  hill 
Which  the  sentinel  cypress-tree  stands  over. 

And  I  thought ...  .  "  were  she  only  living  still, 
How  I  could  forgive  her  and  love  her ! " 

And  I  swear,  as  I  thought  of  her  thus,  in  that  hour. 

And  of  how,  after  all,  old  things  were  best, 
That  I  smelt  the  smell  of  that  jasmin-flower, 

Which  she  used  to  wear  in  her  breast. 

It  smelt  so  faint,  and  it  smelt  so  sweet. 
It  made  me  creep,  and  it  made  me  cold ! 

Like  the  scent  that  steels  from  the  crumbling  sheet 
When  a  mummy  is  half  unrolled. 

And  I  turned  and  looked.     She  was  sitting  there 
In  a  dim  box,  over  the  stage  ;  and  drest 

In  that  muslin  dress,  with  that  full  soft  hair, 
And  that  jasmin  in  her  breast ! 


ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS.  369 

I  was  here,  and  she  was  there, 

And  the  glittering  horseshoe  curved  between  — 
From  my  bride-betrothed,  with  her  raven  hair, 

And  her  sumptuous,  scornful  mien, 

To  my  early  love,  with  her  eyes  down  cast, 

And  over  her  primrose  face  the  shade 
(In  short,  from  the  Future  back  to  the  Past), 

There  was  but  one  step  to  be  made. 

To  my  early  love  from  my  future  bride 

One  moment  I  looked.     Then  I  stole  to  the  door, 

I  traversed  the  passage ;  and  down  at  her  side 
I  was  sitting,  a  moment  more. 

My  thinking  of  her,  or  the  music's  strain, 
Or  something  which  never  will  be  exprest, 

Had  brought  her  back  from  the  grave  again 
With  the  jasmin  in  her  breast. 

She  is  not  dead,  and  she  is  not  wed ! 

But  she  loves  me  now,  and  she  loved  me  then ! 
And  the  very  first  word  that  her  sweet  lips  said, 

My  heart  grew  youthful  again. 

The  Marchioness  there,  of  Carabas, 

She  is  weatlhy,  and  young,  and  handsome  still, 

And  but  for  her ....  well,  we'll  let  that  pass  — 
She  may  marry  whomever  she  will. 

But  I  will  marry  my  own  first  love, 

With  her  primrose  face  ;  for  old  things  are  best. 
And  the  flower  in  her  bosom,  I  prize  it  above 

The  brooch  in  my  lady's  breast. 

The  world  is  filled  with  folly  and  sin, 

And  Love  must  cling  where  it  can,  I  say; 

For  Beauty  is  easy  enough  to  win, 

But  one  isn't  loved  every  day. 
-*  24 


S70  ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS. 

And  I  think  in  the  lives  of  most  women  and  men, 

There's  a  moment  when  all  would  go  smooth  and  even, 

If  only  the  dead  could  find  out  when 
To  come  back  and  be  forgiven. 

But  oh,  the  smell  of  that  jasmin  flower! 
And  oh,  that  music  !  and  oh,  the  way 
That  voice  rang  out  from  the  donjon  tower 
Non  ti  scordar  di  me^ 
Non  ti  scordar  di  me  ! 

Bulwer-Lytton. 


THE  EVE  BEFORE   WATERLOO. 

There  was  a  sound  of  revelry  by  night ; 

And  Belgium's  capital  had  gathered  then 
Her  Beauty  and  her  Chivalry ;  and  bright 

The  lamps  shone  o'er  fair  women  and  brave  men  ; 

A  thousand  hearts  beat  happily  ;   and  when 
Music  arose  with  its  voluptuous  swell, 

Soft  eyes  looked  love  to  eyes  which  spake  again. 
And  all  went  merry  as  a  marriage  bell ;  — 
3ut  hush  !   hark  !  a  deep  sound  strikes  like  a  rising  knell ! 

Did  ye  not  hear  it?  —  No  :  'twas  but  the  wind. 
Or  the  car  rattling  o'er  the  stony  street : 

On  with  the  dance  !  let  joy  be  unconfined  ; 

No  sleep  till  morn,  when  Youth  and  Pleasure  meet 
To  chase  the  glowing  Hours  with  flying  feet ;  — 

But,  hark !  —  that  heavy  sound  breaks  in  once  more. 
As  if  the  clouds  its  echo  would  repeat ; 

And  nearer,  clearer,  deadlier  than  before  ! 
Arm  !  arm  !  it  is  —  it  is  —  the  cannon's  opening  roar  ! 

Ah  !  then  and  there  was  hurrying  to  and  fro. 
And  gathering  tears,  and  tremblings  of  distress, 

And  cheeks  all  pale,  which  but  an  hour  ago 
Blushed  at  the  praise  of  their  own  loveliness; 


ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS.  371 

And  there  were  sudden  partings,  such  as  press 
The  life  from  out  young  hearts,  and  choking  sighs 

Which  ne'er  might  be  repeated.     Who  could  guess 
If  ever  more  should  meet  those  mutual  eyes. 
Since  upon  night  so  sweet  such  awful  morn  could  rise? 

And  there  was  mounting  in  hot  haste  :  the  steed, 

The  mustering  squadron,  and  the  clattering  car, 
Went  pouring  forward  with  impetuous  speed. 

And  swiftly  forming  in  the  ranks  of  war  ; 

And  the  deep  thunder,  peal  on  peal,  afar, — 
And  near,  the  beat  of  the  alarming  drum, 

Roused  up  the  soldier  ere  the  morning  star ; — 
While  thronged  the  citizens  with  terror  dumb. 
Or  whispering,  with  white  lips  —  ''  The  foe  !   they  come  ! 
they  come  !  " 

And  wild  and  high  the  "  Cameron's  gathering"  rose ! 

The  war-note  of  Lochiel,  which  Albyn's  hills 
Have  heard  —  and  heard,  too,  have  her  Saxon  foes  :  — 

How  in  the  noon  of  night  that  pibroch  thrills, 

Savage  and  shrill !     But  with  the  breath  which  fills 
Their  mountain-pipe,  so  fill  the  mountaineers 

With  the  fierce  native  daring,  which  instils 
The  stirring  memory  of  a  thousand  years : 
And    Evan's,   Donald's    fame    rings    in    each    clansman's 
ears ! 

And  Ardennes  waves  above  them  her  green  leaves, 

Dewy  with  Nature's  tear-drops,  as  they  pass. 
Grieving  —  if  aught  inanimate  e'er  grieves  — 

Over  the  unreturning  brave,  —  alas  ! 

Ere  evening  to  be  trodden  like  the  grass 
Which  now  beneath  them,  but  above  shall  grow, 

In  its  next  verdure  ;  when  this  fiery  mass 
Of  living  valor,  rolling  on  the  foe. 
And    burning  with    high   hope,   shall   moulder   cold   and 
low  ! 


372  ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS. 

Last  noon  beheld  them  full  of  lusty  life  ; 

Last  eve  in  Beauty's  circle  proudly  gay  ; 
The  midnight  brought  the  signal-sound  of  strife; 

The  morn,  the  marshalling  in  arms  ;  the  day, 

Battle's  magnificently  stern  array  ! 
The  thunder-clouds  close  o'er  it,  which  when  rent, 

The  earth  is  covered  thick  with  otlier  clay. 
Which  her  own  clay  shall  cover,  —  heaped  and  pent, 
Rider  and  horse,  —  friend,  foe,  —  in  one  red  burial  blent ! 

Byron 


THE  BATTLE   OF  WATERLOO. 

Had  it  not  rained  on  the  night  of  the  17th  of  June,  1815, 
the  future  of  Europe  would  have  been  changed.  A  few  drops 
of  water,  more  or  less,  prostrated  Napoleon.  That  Water- 
loo should  be  the  end  of  Austerlitz,  Providence  needed  only 
a  little  rain  ;  and  an  unseasonable  cloud,  crossing  the  sky, 
sufficed  for  the  overthrow  of  a  world  ! 

The  battle  of  Waterloo  —  and  this  gave  Blticher  time  to 
come  up  —  could  not  be  commenced  before  half-past  eleven. 
Why?  Because  the  ground  was  soft.  It  was  necessary 
to  wait  for  it  to  acquire  some  little  firmness,  so  that  the 
artillery  could  manoeuvre.  Had  the  ground  been  dry,  and 
the  artillery  able  to  move,  the  action  would  have  been  com- 
menced at  six  o'clock  in  the  morning.  The  battle  would 
have  been  won  and  finished  at  two  o'clock,  three  hours  be- 
fore the  Prussians  turned  the  scale  of  fortune. 

How  much  fault  is  there  on  the  part  of  Napoleon  in  the 
loss  of  this  battle?  His  plan  of  battle  was,  all  confess,  a 
masterpiece.  To  march  straight  to  the  centre  of  the  allied 
line,  pierce  the  enemy,  cut  them  in  two,  push  the  British 
half  upon  Hal,  and  the  Prussian  half  upon  Tongres,  make 
of  Wellington  and  Blticher  two  fragments,  carry  Mont  Saint- 
Jean,  seize  Brussels,  throw  the  German  into  the  Rhine,  and 


ADVANCED   READINGS   AND   RECITATIONS.  373 

the  Englishman  into  the  sea  —  all  this,  for  Napoleon,  was  in 
this  battle.     What  would  follow,  anybody  can  see. 

Both  generals  had  carefully  studied  the  plain  of  Mont 
Saint-Jean,  now  called  the  plain  of  Waterloo.  Already,  in 
the  preceding  year,  Wellington,  with  the  sagacity  of  pre- 
science, had  examined  it  as  a  possible  site  for  a  great  battle. 
On  this  ground,  and  for  this  contest,  Wellington  had  the 
favorable  side,  Napoleon  the  unfavorable.  The  English 
army  was  above,  the  French  army  below. 

Wellington,  anxious  but  impassible,  was  on  horseback, 
and  remained  the  whole  day  in  the  same  attitude,  a  little  in 
front  of  the  old  mill  of  Mont  Saint-Jean,  which  is  still  stand- 
ing, under  an  elm,  which  an  Englishman,  an  enthusiastic 
Vandal,  has  since  bought  for  two  hundred  francs,  cut  down, 
and  carried  away. 

Wellington  was  frigidly  heroic.  The  balls  rained  down. 
His  aid-de-camp,  Gordon,  had  just  fallen  at  his  side.  Lord 
Hill,  showing  him  a  bursting  shell,  said:  '' My  lord,  what 
are  your  instructions,  and  what  orders  do  you  leave  us,  if 
you  allow  yourself  to  be  killed?"  ''To  follow  my  exam- 
ple," answered  Wellington.  To  Clinton  he  said,  laconically, 
''  Hold  this  spot  to  the  last  man  !  "  The  day  was  clearly 
going  badly.  Wellington  cried  to  his  old  companions  of 
Talavera,  Vittoria,  and  Salamanca  :  *'  Boys,  we  must  not 
be  beat !     What  would  they  say  of  us  in  England?  " 

About  four  o'clock  the  English  line  staggered  backward. 
All  at  once  only  the  artillery  and  the  sharpshooters  were 
seen  on  the  crest  of  the  plateau  ;  the  rest  disappeared.  The 
regiments,  driven  by  the  shells  and  bullets  of  the  French, 
fell  back  into  the  valley  ;  the  battle-front  of  the  English  was 
slipping  away.  Wellington  gave  ground.  "  Beginning 
retreat !  ''  cried  Napoleon. 

At  the  moment  when  Wellington  drew  back.  Napoleon 
started  up.  He  saw  the  plateau  of  Mont  Saint-Jean  sud- 
denly laid  bare,  and  the  front  of  the  English  army  disappear. 
It  rallied,  but  kept  concealed.     The  emperor  half-rose  in  his 


374  ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS. 

stirrups.  The  flush  of  victory  passed  into  his  eyes.  Wei* 
lingtou  hurled  back  on  the  forest  of  Soignies,  and  destroyed 
—  that  was  the  final  overthrow  of  England  by  France.  The 
man  of  Marengo  was  wiping  out  Agincourt. 

The  emperor  rose  and  reflected.  Wellington  had  fallen 
back.  It  remained  only  to  complete  this  repulse  by  a  crusli- 
ing  charge.  Napoleon,  turning  abruptly,  sent  ofl'  a  courier 
at  full  speed  to  Paris  to  announce  that  the  battle  was  won. 

Napoleon  was  one  of  those  geniuses  wiio  rule  the  thunder. 
He  had  found  his  thunderbolt.  He  ordered  Milhaud's 
cuirassiers  to  carry  the  plateau  of  Mont  Saint-Jean.  They 
were  three  thousand  five  hundred.  They  formed  a  line  of 
half  a  mile.  They  wer-e  gigantic  men  on  colossal  horses. 
They  were  twenty-six  squadrons,  and  they  had  behind  thein 
a  strong  support. 

Aid-de-camp  Bernard  brought  them  the  emperor's  order. 
Ney  drew  his  sword  and  placed  himself  at  their  head.  The 
enormous  squadrons  began  to  move.  Then  was  seen  a  fear- 
ful sight.  All  this  cavalry,  with  sabres  drawn,  banners 
waving,  and  trumpets  sounding,  formed  in  column  by  divis- 
ion, descended  with  even  movement  and  as  one  man  —  with 
the  precision  of  a  bronze  battering-ram  opening  a  breach. 

Behind  the  crest  of  the  plateau,  undercover  of  the  masked 
battery,  the  English  infantry,  formed  in  thirteen  squares,  two 
battalions  to  the  square,  and  upon  two  lines  —  seven  on  the 
first,  and  six  on  the  second  —  with  musket  to  the  shoulder, 
and  eye  upon  their  sights,  waiting,  calm,  silent,  and  im- 
movable. 

They  could  not  see  the  cuirassiers,  and  the  cuirassiers 
could  not  see  them.  They  listened  to  the  rising  of  this  tide 
of  men.  They  heard  the  increasing  sound  of  three  thousanc? 
horses,  the  alternate  and  measured  striking  of  their  hoofs  at 
full  trot,  the  rattling  of  the  cuirasses,  the  clinking  of  the 
sabres,  and  a  sort  of  fierce  roar  of  the  coming  host. 

There  was  a  moment  of  fearful  silence  ;  then,  suddenly,  a 
long  line  of  raised  arms  brandishing  sabres  appeared  above 


ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS.  37o 

the  crest,  with  casques,  trumpets,  and  standards,  and  three 
thousand  faces,  with  ^ray  mustaches,  crying,  *'  Vive  V Em^ 
pereurl'''  *  All  this  cavalry  debouched  on  the  plateau, 
and  it  was  like  the  beginning  of  an  earthquake. 

Victor  Hugo. 


THE  DEFEAT  AT  WATERLOO, 

All  at  once,  tragic  to  relate,  at  the  left  of  the  English, 
and  on  our  right,  the  head  of  the  column  of  cuirassiers 
reared  with  a  frightful  clamor.  Arrived  at  the  culminating 
point  of  the  crest,  unmanageable,  full  of  fury,  and  bent  upon 
the  extermination  of  the  squares  and  cannons,  the  cuirassiers 
saw  between  themselves  and  the  English  a  ditch  —  a  grave. 
It  was  the  sunken  road  of  Ohain. 

It  was  a  frightful  moment.  There  was  the  ravine,  un- 
looked-for, yawning  at  the  very  feet  of  the  horses,  two  fath- 
oms deep  between  its  double  slopes.  The  second  rank 
pushed  in  the  first,  the  third  pushed  in  the  second  ;  the 
horses  reared,  threw  themselves  over,  fell  upon  their  backs, 
and  struggled  with  their  feet  in  the  air,  piling  up  and  over- 
turning their  riders  ;  no  power  to  retreat.  The  whole  column 
was  notliing  but  a  projectile.  The  force  acquired  to  crush 
the  English  crushed  the  French. 

The  inexorable  ravine  could  not  yield  until  it  was  filled; 
riders  and  horses  rolled  in  together  pell-mell,  grinding  each 
other,  making  common  flesh  in  this  dreadful  gulf ;  and  when 
the  grave  was  full  of  living  men,  the  rest  rode  over  them 
and  passed  on.  Almost  a  third  of  Dubois's  brigade  sank 
into  this  abyss.     Here  the  loss  of  the  battle  began. 

A  local  tradition,  which  evidently  exaggerates,  says  that 
two  thousand  horses  and  fifteen  hundred  men  were  buried  m 
the  sunken  road  of  Ohain.     This  undoubtedly  comprised  all 

*  Vive  TEmpereur  (vev  long-per-iir.) 


376  ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS. 

the  Other  bodies  thrown  into  this  ravine  on  the  morrow  aftel 
the  battle. 

Napoleon,  before  ordering  this  charge  of  Milhaud's  cuiras- 
siers, had  examined  the  ground,  but  could  not  see  this  hollow 
road,  which  did  not  make  even  a  wrinkle  on  the  surface  of 
the  plateau.  Warned,  however,  and  put  on  his  guard  by  thr 
little  w^hite  chapel  which  marks  its  junction  with  the  Ni 
velles  road,  he  had,  probably  on  the  contingency  of  an  cb 
stacle,  put  a  question  to  the  guide  Lacoste.  The  guide  luul 
answered  "No."  It  may  almost  be  said  that  from  this 
shake  of  a  peasant's  head  came  the  catastrophe  of  Napoleon. 

At  the  same  time  with  the  ravine,  the  artillery  was  un- 
masked. Sixty  cannon  and  the  thirteen  squares  thundered 
and  flashed  into  the  cuirassiers.  The  brave  General  Delord 
gave  the  military  salute  to  the  English  battery.  All  the 
English  flying  artillery  took  position  in  the  squares  at  a 
gallop.  The  cuirassiers  had  not  even  time  to  breathe.  The 
disaster  of  the  sunken  road  had  decimated  but  not  discour- 
aged them.  They  were  men  who,  diminished  in  numbers, 
grew  greater  in  heart. 

Wathier's  column  alone  had  suffered  from  the  disaster. 
Delord's,  which  Ney  had  sent  obliquely  to  the  left,  as  if  he 
had  a  presentiment  of  the  snare,  arrived  entire.  The  cuiras- 
siers hurled  themselves  upon  the  English  squares.  At  ful> 
gallop,  with  free  rein,  their  sabres  in  their  teeth  and  tiieir 
pistols  in  their  hands,  the  attack  began. 

There  are  moments  in  battle  when  the  soul  hardens  a 
man,  even  to  changing  the  soldier  into  a  statue,  and  all 
his  flesh  becomes  granite.  The  English  battalions,  despe- 
rately assailed,  did  not  yield  an  inch.  Then  it  was  frightful 
All  sides  of  the  English  squares  were  attacked  at  once.  A 
Whirlwind  of  frenzy  enveloped  them. 

This  frigid  infantry  remained  impassable.  The  first  rank,  ^ 
with  knee  on  the  ground,  received  the  cuirassiers  on  their, 
bayonets,  the  second  shot  them  down;  behind  the  second' 
rank,   the  cannoneers   loaded  their  guns,  the  front  of  the 


ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS.  377 

square  opened,  made  way  for  an  eruption  of  grape,  and 
closed  again. 

The  cuirassiers  answered  by  rushing  upon  them  with 
crushing  force.  Their  great  horses  reared,  trampled  upon 
ihe  ranks,  leaped  over  the  bayonets,  and  fell,  gigantic,  in 
ilie  midst  of  these  four  living  walls.  The  balls  made  gaps 
in  the  ranks  of  the  cuirassiers  ;  the  cuirassiers  made  breaches 
in  the  squares.  Files  of  men  disappeared,  ground  down  be- 
neath the  horses'  feet. 

The  cuirassiers,  relatively  few  in  number,  lessened  by  the 
catastrophe  of  the  ravine,  had  to  contend  with  almost  the 
whole  of  the  English  army  ;  but  they  multiplied  themselves 
—  each  man  became  equal  to  ten.  Nevertheless,  some 
Hanoverian  battalions  fell  back.  Wellington  saw  it,  and 
remembered  his  cavalry.  Had  Napoleon,  at  that  very  mo- 
ment, remembered  his  infantry,  he  would  have  won  the 
battle.     This  forgetfulness  was  his  great,  fatal  blunder. 

Suddenly  the  assailing  cuirassiers  perceived  that  they  were 
assailed.  The  English  cavalry  was  upon  their  back.  Be- 
fore them  the  squares,  behind  them  Somerset  —  Somerset, 
with  the  fourteen  hundred  dragoon  guards.  Somerset  had 
on  his  right,  Domberg,  with  his  German  light-horse  ;  and 
on  his  left.  Trip,  with  the  Belgian  carbineers.  The  cuiras- 
siers, attacked  front,  flank,  and  rear,  by  infantry  and  cavalry, 
were  compelled  to  face  in  all  directions.  What  was  that  to 
them  ?  They  were  a  whirlwind.  Their  valor  became  un- 
speakable. 

The  cuirassiers  annihilated  seven  squares  out  of  thirteen, 
took  or  spiked  sixty  pieces  of  cannon,  and  took  from  the 
English  regiments  six  colors,  which  three  cuirassiers  and 
three  chasseurs  of  the  guard  carried  to  the  emperor  before 
the  farm  of  La  Belle  Alliance.  The  situation  of  Wellington 
was  growing  worse.  This  strange  battle  was  like  a  duel  be- 
tween two  wounded  infuriates,  who,  while  yet  fighting  and 
resisting,  lose  all  their  blood.  Which  of  the  two  shall  fall 
first  ? 

At  five  o'clock  Wellington  drew  out  his  watch,  and  was 


378  ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS. 

heard  to  murmur  these  sombre  words,  "  Blticher,  or  night!" 
It  was  about  this  time  tliat  a  distant  line  of  bayonets  glis- 
tened on  the  heights  beyond  Frichemont.  Here  is  the  turn- 
ing point  in  this  colossal  drama. 

The  rest  is  known  :  the  irruption  of  a  third  army  ;  the 
battle  thrown  out  of  joint :  eighty-six  pieces  of  artillery  sud- 
denly thundering  forth  ;  a  new  battle  falling  at  nightfall 
upon  our  dismantled  regiments;  the  whole  English  line 
assuming  the  offensive,  and  pushing  forward  ;  the  gigantic 
gap  made  in  the  French  army  ;  the  English  grape  and  the 
Prussian  grape  lending  mutual  aid  ;  extermination,  disaster 
in  front,  disaster  in  flank ;  the  Guard  entering  into  line 
amid  the  terrible  crumbling. 

Feeling  that  they  were  going  to  their  death,  they  criad 
out^ '' Vive  r Empereur  l^""  There  is  nothing  more  touch- 
ing in  history  than  this  death  agony  bursting  forth  in  accla- 
mations. 

Each  battalion  of  the  Guard,  for  this  final  eftbrt,  was  com- 
manded by  a  general.  When  the  tall  caps  of  the  grenadiers 
of  the  Guard,  with  their  large  eagle-plates,  appeared,  sym- 
metrical, drawn  up  in  line,  calm,  in  the  smoke  of  that  con- 
flict, the  enemy  felt  respect  for  France.  They  thought  they 
saw  twenty  victories  entering  upon  the  field  of  battle,  with 
wings  extended,  and  those  who  were  conquerors,  thinking 
themselves  conquered,  recoiled  ;  but  Wellington  cried,  ''Up, 
Guards,  and  at  them  !  " 

The  red  regiment  of  English  Guards,  lying  behind  the 
hedges,  rose  up.  A  shower  of  grape  riddled  the  tri-colored 
flag  fluttering  about  our  eagles  ;  all  hurled  themselves  for- 
ward, and  the  final  carnage  began.  The  Imperial  Guard 
felt  the  army  slipping  away  around  them  in  the  gloom  and 
in  the  vast  overthrow  of  the  rout;  they  heard  the  "  Sauve 
qnipentl'''''^  which  had  replaced  the  '•'•Vive  V Empereurl^' 
and,  with  flight  behind  them,  they  held  on  their  course,  bat- 
tered more  and  more,  and  dying  faster  and  faster  at  every 

*  Sauve  qui  peut  (soy  ke  puh)  (save  himself  who  can.) 


ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS.  379 

step.  There  were  no  weak  souls  or  cowards  there.  The 
privates  of  that  band  were  as  heroic  as  their  general.  Not  a 
man  flinched  from  the  suicide. 

The  rout  behind  the  Guard  was  dismal.  The  army  fell 
back  rapidly  from  all  sides  at  once.  The  cry, ''  Treachery  !  " 
was  followed  by  the  cry,  ''  Sauve  qui  feut!''^  A  disband- 
ing army  is  a  thaw.  The  whole  bends,  cracks,  snaps,  floats, 
rolls,  falls,  crashes,  hurries,  plunges.  Mysterious  disintegra- 
tion !  Napoleon  gallops  along  the  fugitives,  harangues  them, 
urges,  threatens,  entreats.  The  mouths  which  in  the  morn- 
ing were  crying  '^  Vive  V Empereur I''''  are  now  agape.  He 
is  hardly  recognized. 

The  Prussian  cavalry,  just  come  up,  spring  forward,  fling 
themselves  upon  the  enemy,  saber,  cut,  hack,  kill,  extermi- 
nate. Teams  rush  oft';  the  guns  are  left  to  the  care  of  them- 
selves;  the  soldiers  of  the  train  unhitch  the  caissons,  and 
take  the  horses  to  escape  ;  wagons  upset,  with  their  four 
wheels  in  the  air,  block  up  the  road,  and  are  accessories  of 
massacre. 

They  crush  and  they  crowd  ;  they  trample  upon  the  living 
and  the  dead.  Arms  are  broken.  A  multitude  fills  roads, 
paths,  bridges,  plains,  hills,  valleys,  woods,  choked  up  by 
the  flight  of  forty  thousand  men.  Cries,  despair,  knapsacks 
and  muskets  cast  into  the  growing  rye  ;  passages  forced  at 
the  point  of  the  sword  ;  no  more  comrades,  no  more  officers, 
no  more  generals  ;  inexpressible  dismay. 

In  the  gathering  night,  on  a  field  near  Genappe,  Bernard 
and  Bertrand  seized  by  a  flap  of  his  coat  and  stopped  a  hag- 
gard, thoughtful,  gloomy  man,  who,  dragged  thus  far  by  the 
current  of  the  rout,  had  dismounted,  passed  the  bridle  of  his 
horse  inuler  his  arm,  and,  with  bewildered  eye,  was  rel urg- 
ing alone  toward  Waterloo.  It  was  Napoleon,  endeavoring 
to  advance  again  —  mighty  somnambulist  of  a  vanished 
dieam.  Victor  Hugo. 


380  ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS. 


THE  BELLS. 

Hear  the  sledges  with  the  bells  — 
Silver  bells  — 
What  a  world  of  merriment  their  melody  foretells  I 
How  they  tinkle,  tinkle,  tinkle, 

In  the  icy  air  of  night ! 
While  the  stars  that  oversprinkle 
All  the  heavens,  seem  to  twinkle 

With  a  crystalline  delight; 
Keeping  time,  time,  time.. 
In  a  sort  of  Runic  rhyme, 
To  the  tintinnabulation  that  so  musically  wells 
From  the  bells,  bells,  bells,  bells. 
Bells,  bells,  bells  — 
From  the  jingling  and  the  tinkling  of  the  bells. 

Hear  the  mellow  wedding-bells, 
Golden  bells ! 
What  a  world  of  happiness  their  harmony  foretells! 
Through  the  balmy  air  of  night 
How  they  ring  out  their  delight ! 
From  the  molten-golden  notes, 
And  all  in  tune, 
What  a  liquid  ditty  floats 
To  the  turtle-dove  that  listens,  while  she  gloats 
On  the  moon ! 
Oh,  from  out  the  sounding  cells. 
What  a  gush  of  euphony  voluminously  wells! 
How  it  swells ! 
How  it  dwells 
On  the  Future !  how  it  tells 
Of  the  rapture  that  impels 
To  the  swinging  and  the  ringing 
Of  the  bells,  bells,  bells, — 


ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS.  381 

Of  the  bells,  bells,  bells,  bells. 
Bells,  bells,  bells  — 
To  the  rhyming  and  the  chiming  of  the  bells  I 

Hear  the  loud  alarum  bells  — 
Brazen  bells ! 
What  a  tale  of  terror,  now,  their  turbulency  tells! 
In  the  startled  ear  of  night 
How  they  scream  out  their  affright* 
Too  much  horrified  to  speak. 
They  can  only  shriek,  shriek, 
Out  of  tune, 
In  a  clamorous  appealing  to  the  mercy  of  the  fire, 
In  a  mad  expostulation  with  the  deaf  and  frantic  fire 
Leaping  higher,  higher,  higher, 
With  a  desperate  desire, 
And  a  resolute  endeavor, 
Now  —  now  to  sit  or  never, 
By  the  side  of  the  pale-faced  moon. 
Oh,  the  bells,  bells,  bells ! 
What  a  tale  their  terror  tells 
Of  despair ! 
How  they  clang,  and  clash,  and  roar! 
What  a  horror  they  outpour 
On  the  bosom  of  the  palpitating  air  1 
Yet  the  ear,  it  fully  knows, 
By  the  twanging 
And  the  clanging, 
How  the  danger  ebbs  and  flows ; 
Yet  the  ear  distinctly  tells, 
In  the  jangling 
And  the  wrangling. 
How  the  danger  sinks  and  swells. 
By  the  sinking  or  the  swelling  in  the  anger  of  the  bells  — 
Of  the  bells  — 
Of  the  bells,  bells,  bells,  bells, 
Bells,  bells,  bells  — 
Jn  the  clarnor  and  the  clangor  of  the  bells  ! 


'6S2  ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS. 

Hear  the  tolling  of  the  bells  — 
Iron  bells ! 
What  a  world  of  solemn  thought  their  monody  compels  1 
In  the  silence  of  the  night, 
How  we  shiver  with  affright 
At  the  melancholy  menace  of  their  tone ' 
For  every  sound  that  floats 
From  the  rust  within  their  throats 

Is  a  groan. 
And  the  people  —  ah,  the  people  — 
They  that  dwell  up  in  the  steeple, 

All  alone. 
And  who  tolling,  tolling,  tolling, 

In  that  muffled  monotone, 
Feel  a  glory  in  so  rolling 

On  the  human  heart  a  stone  — 
They  are  neither  man  nor  woman  — 
They  are  neither  brute  nor  hiur.an  — 

They  are  Ghouls ; 
And  thiCir  king  it  is  who  tolls; 
And  he  rolls,  rolls,  rolls,  rolls, 

A  psean  from  the  bells ! 
And  his  merry  bosom  swells 

With  the  pnean  of  the  bells ! 
And  he  dances  and  he  yells  ; 
Keeping  time,  time,  time. 
In  a  sort  of  Runic  rhyme, 

To  the  piEan  of  the  bells  — 
Of  the  bells ; 
Keeping  time,  time,  time, 
In  a  sort  Runic  rhyme. 

To  the  throbbing  of  the  bells-— 
Of  the  bells,  bells,  bells, 

To  the  sobbing  of  the  bells ; 
Keeping  time,  time,  time, 

As  he  knells,  knells,  knells, 
\n  a  happy  Runic  rhyme. 

To  the  rolling  of  the  bells  — 


ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS.  383 

Of  the  bells,  bells,  bells  — 
To  the  tolling  of  the  bells, 
Of  the  bells,  bells,  bells,  bells  — 
Bells,  bells,  bells, 
To  the  moaning  and  the  groaning  of  the  bells. 

Edgar  A.  Poe. 


A  CURTAIN  LECTURE   OF  MRS.  CAUDLE. 

Bah  !  that's  the  third  umbrella  gone  since  Christmas.  — 
What  were  you  to  do?  Why,  let  him  go  home  in  the  rain, 
to  be  sure.  Fm  very  certain  there  was  nothing  about  him 
that  could  spoil.  —  Take  cold,  indeed  !  He  doesn't  look  like 
one  of  the  sort  to  take  cold.  Besides,  he'd  have  better  taken 
cold  than  taken  our  umbrella.  —  Do  you  hear  the  rain,  Mr, 
Caudle?  I  say,  do  you  hear  the  rain.?  And,  as  I'm  alive, 
if  it  isn't  St.  Swithin's  day !  Do  you  hear  it  against  the 
window? 

Nonsense :  you  don't  impose  upon  me ;  you  can't  be 
asleep  with  such  a  shower  as  that!  Do  you  hear  it,  I  say? 
Oh,  you  do  hear  it !  —  Well,  that's  a  pretty  flood,  I  think, 
to  last  for  six  weeks  ;  and  no  stirring  all  the  time  out  of  the 
house.  Pooh  !  don't  think  me  a  fool,  Mr.  Caudle ;  don't 
insult  me  !  he  return  the  umbrella  !  Anybody  would  think 
you  were  born  yesterday.  As  if  anybody  ever  did  return  an 
umbrella  ! 

There  :  do  you  hear  it  ?  Worse  and  worse.  Cats  and 
dogs,  and  for  six  weeks :  always  six  weeks ;  and  no  um- 
brella !  I  should  like  to  know  how  the  children  are  to  go 
to  school  to-morrow.  They  shan't  go  through  such  weather  ; 
T  am  determined.  No  ;  they  shall  stop  at  home,  and  never 
learn  anything,  the  blessed  creatures!  sooner  than  go  and 
get  wet !  And  when  they  grow  up,  I  wonder  who  they'll 
have  to  thank  for  knowing  nothing;  who,  indeed,  but  their 
father !  People  who  can't  feel  for  their  own  children  ought 
never  to  be  fathers. 


384:  ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS. 

But  I  know  why  you  lent  the  umbrella.  Oh,  yes,  I  know 
very  well.  I  was  going  out  to  tea  at  dear  mother's  to-mor- 
row :  you  knew  that,  and  you  did  it  on  purpose.  Don't  tell 
me ;  you  hate  to  have  me  go  there,  and  take  every  mean  ad- 
vantage to  hinder  me.  But  don't  you  think  it,  Mr.  Caudle  ; 
no,  sir ;  if  it  comes  down  in  buckets'  full,  I'll  go  all  the 
more. 

No ;  and  I  won't  have  a  cab !  Where  do  you  think  the 
money 's  to  come  from  ?  You've  got  nice  high  notions  at 
that  club  of  yours .'^  A  cab,  indeed.?  Cost  me  sixteen- 
pence,  at  least ;  sixteen-pence !  two-and-eight-pence ;  for 
there's  back  again.  Cabs,  indeed  !  I  should  like  to  know 
who's  to  pay  for  'em  ;  for  I'm  sure  you  can't,  if  you  go  on 
as  you  do,  throwing  away  your  property,  and  beggaring 
your  children,  buying  umbrellas  ! 

Do  you  hear  the  rain,  Mr.  Caudle.?  I  say,  do  you  hear 
it?  But  I  don't  care;  I'll  go  to  mother's  to-morrow  —  I 
will ;  and  what's  more,  I'll  walk  every  step  of  the  way  ; 
and  you  know  that  will  give  me  my  death.  —  Don't  call  me 
a  foolish  woman ;  it's  you  that's  the  foolish  man.  You 
know  I  can't  wear  clogs;  and  with  no  umbrella,  the  wet's 
sure  to  give  me  a  cold —  it  always  does.  But  what  do  you 
care  for  that?  Nothing  at  all.  I  maybe  laid  up  for  all 
you  care,  as  I  dare  say  I  shall ;  and  a  pretty  doctor's  bill 
there'll  be.  I  hope  there  will.  It  will  teach  you  to  lend  your 
umbrellas  again.  I  shouldn't  wonder  if  I  caught  my  death  : 
yes,  and  that's  what  you  lent  the  umbrella  for.     Of  course ! 

Nice  clothes  I  get,  too,  traipsing  through  weather  like 
this!  My  gown  and  bonnet  will  be  spoiled  quite.  —  I 
needn't  wear  'em  then.  Indeed,  Mr.  Caudle,  I  shall  wear 
'em.  No,  sir ;  I  am  not  going  out  a  dowdy  to  please  you 
or  anybody  else.  Gracious  knows  !  it  isn't  often  that  I  step 
over  the  threshold  ;  indeed,  I  might  as  well  be  a  slave  at 
once :  better,  I  should  say ;  but  when  I  do  go  out,  Mr. 
Caudle,  I  choose  to  go  as  a  lady.  Oh,  that  rain!  if  it  isn't 
enough  to  break  in  the  windows. 

Ugh !  I  look  forward  with  dread   to  to-morrow !     How 


ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS.  385 

I  am  to  go  to  mother's,  I  am  sure  I  can't  tell,  but  if  I  die, 
ril  do  it.  —  No,  sir  ;  I  won't  borrow  an  umbrella  :  no  ;  and 
you  shan't  buy  one.  (  With  great  emphasis.)  Mr.  Caudle, 
if  you  bring  home  another  umbrella  I'll  throw  it  into  the 
street. 

Ha!  and  it  was  only  last  week  I  had  a  new  nozzle  put  to 
that  umbrella.  I'm  sure  if  I'd  have  known  as  much  as  I  do 
now,  it  might  have  gone  without  one.  Paying  for  new 
nozzles  for  other  people  to  laugh  at  you  !  Oh,  it's  all  very 
well  for  you  ;  you  can  go  to  sleep.  You've  no  thought  of  your 
poor  patient  wife,  and  your  own  dear  children  ;  you  think 
of  nothing  but  lending  umbrellas! 

Men,  indeed !  Call  themselves  lords  of  the  creation  ! 
pretty  lords,  when  they  can't  even  take  care  of  an  umbrella  I 

I  know  that  walk  to-morrow  will  be  the  death  of  me,  but 
that's  what  you  want :  then  you  may  go  to  your  club,  and  do 
as  you  like  ;  and  then  nicely  my  poor  dear  children  will  be 
used  ;  but  then,  sir,  then  you'll  be  happy.  —  Oh,  don't  tell 
me !  I  know  you  will :  else  you'd  never  have  lent  the  um- 
brella ! 

The  children,  dear  things!  they'll  be  sopping  wet;  for 
they  shan't  stay  at  home;  they  shan't  lose  their  learning; 
it's- all  their  father  will  leave  them,  I'm  sure.  —  But  they 
shall  go  to  school.  Don't  tell  me  they  needn't :  you  are  so 
aggravating.  Caudle,  you'd  spoil  the  temper  of  an  angel ; 
they  shall  go  to  school!  mark  that:  and  if  they  get  their 
deaths  of  cold,  it's  not  my  fault;  I  didn't  lend  the  umbrella. 

''  Here,"  says  Caudle,  in  his  manuscript,  "  I  fell  asleep, 
and  dreamed  that  the  sky  was  turned  into  green  calico,  with 
whalebone  ribs :  that,  in  fact,  the  whole  world  revolved 
under  a  tremendous  umbrella  !  "  Douglas  Jerrold. 

25 


386  ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS. 


GALILEO. 

There  is  much  in  every  way  in  the  city  of  Florence  to  ex- 
cite the  curiosity,  kindle  the  imagination,  and  gratify  the 
taste;  but  among  all  its  fascinations,  addressed  to  the  sense, 
the  memory,  and  the  heart,  there  was  none  to  which  I  more 
frequently  gave  a  meditative  hour,  during  a  year's  residence, 
than  to  the  spot  where  Galileo  Galilei  sleeps  beneath  the 
marble  floor  of  Santa  Croce ;  no  building  on  which  I  gazed 
with  greater  reverence  than  I  did  upon  that  modest  mansion 
at  Arceti :  villa  once,  and  prison,  in  which  that  venerable 
sage,  by  the  command  of  the  Inquisition,  passed  the  sad, 
closing  years  of  his  life. 

Of  all  the  wonders  of  ancient  and  modern  art,  statues  and 
paintings,  jewels  and  manuscripts,  the  admiration  and  de- 
light of  ages,  there  is  nothing  I  beheld  with  more  affectionate 
awe  than  that  poor  little  spy -glass,  through  which  the  hu- 
man eye  first  pierced  the  clouds  of  visual  error,  which  from  the 
creation  of  the  world  had  involved  the  system  of  the  universe. 

There  are  occasions  in  life  in  which  a  great  mind  lives 
}  ears  of  rapt  enjoyment  in  a  moment.  I  can  fancy  the  emo- 
tions of  Galileo,  when,  first  raising  the  newly  constructed 
telescope  to  the  heavens,  he  saw  fulfilled  the  grand  prophecy 
of  Copernicus,  and  beheld  the  planet  Venus  crescent  like  the 
moon. 

It  was  such  another  moment  as  that,  when  the  immortal 
printers  of  Mentz  and  Strasburg  received  the  first  copy  of  the 
Bible  into  their  hands,  the  work  of  their  divine  art ;  like  that, 
when  Columbus,  through  the  gray  dawn  of  the  I2th  of 
October,  1492,  beheld  the  shores  of  San  Salvador;  like  that, 
when  the  law  of  gravitation  first  revealed  itself  to  the  intel- 
lect of  Newton  ;  like  that,  when  Franklin  saw,  by  the  stiffen- 
ing fibres  of  the  hempen  cord  of  his  kite,  that  he  held  the 
lightning  in  his  grasp  ;  like  that,  when  Leverrier  received 
back  from  Berlin  the  tidings  that  the  predicted  planet  was 
found. 


ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS.  887 

Yes,  noble  Galileo,  thou  art  right,  "  It  does  move."  Bigots 
may  make  thee  recant  it,  but  it  moves,  nevertheless.  Yos, 
the  earth  moves,  and  the  planets  move,  and  the  mighty 
waters  move,  and  the  great  sweeping  tides  of  air  move,  and 
the  empires  of  men  move,  and  the  world  of  thought  moves, 
ever  onward  and  upward,  to  higher  facts  and  bolder  theories. 
The  Inquisition  may  seal  thy  lips,  but  they  can  no  more  stop 
tlie  progress  of  the  great  truth  propounded  by  Copernicus, 
and  demonstrated  by  thee,  than  they  can  stop  the  revolving 
earth. 

Close,  now,  venerable'  sage,  that  sightless,  tearful  eye ;  it 
has  seen  what  man  never  before  saw  ;  it  has  seen  enough. 
Hang  up  that  poor  little  spy-glass ;  it  has  done  its  work 
Not  Herschel  nor  Rosse  have,  comparatively,  done  more. 
Franciscans  and  Dominicans  deride  thy  discoveries  now,  but 
the  time  will  come  when,  from  two  hundred  observatories  in 
Europe  and  America,  the  glorious  artillery  of  science  shall 
nightly  assault  the  skies  ;  but  they  shall  gain  no  conquests  in 
those  glittering  fields  before  which  thine  shall  be  forgotten. 

Rest  in  peace,  great  Columbus  of  the  heavens —  like  him 
scorned,  persecuted,  broken-hearted  !  —  in  other  ages,  in  dis- 
tant hemispheres,  when  the  votaries  of  science,  with  solemn 
acts  of  consecration,  shall  dedicate  their  stately  edifices  to  the 
cause  of  knowledge  and  truth,  thy  name  shall  be  mentioned 
with  honor.  Edward  Everett. 


THE  BELLS  OF  SHANDON. 

With  deep  affection 

And  recollection, 
I  often  think  of  those  Shandon  bells, 

Whose  sound  so  wild  would, 

In  the  days  of  childhood, 
Fling  round  my  cradle  their  magic  spells. 


388  ADVANCED    READINGS    AND  RECITATIONS. 

On  this  I  ponder 

Where'er  I  wander 
And  thus  grow  fonder,  sweet  Cork,  of  thee,  - 

With  thy  bells  of  Shandon, 

That  sound  so  grand,  on 
The  pleasant  waters  of  the  river  Lee. 

I've  heard  bells  chiming 
Full  many  a  clime  in, 

Tolling  sublime  in  cathedral  shrine ; 
While  at  a  glib  rate. 
Brass  tongues  would  vibrate  ; 

But  all  their  music  spoke  naught  like  thine. 

For  memory,  dwelling 
On  each  proud  swelling 

Of  thy  belfry,  knelling  its  bold  notes  free, 
Made  the  bells  of  Shandon 
Sound  far  more  grand  on 

The  pleasant  waters  of  the  river  Lee. 

I've  heard  bells  tolling 
Old  Adrian's  Mole  in, 

Their  thunder  rolling  from  the  Vatican; 
And  cymbals  glorious 
Swinging  uproarious 

In  the  gorgeous  turret  of  Notre  Dame ; 

But  thy  sounds  were  sweeter 
Than  the  dome  of  Peter 

Flings  o'er  the  Tiber,  pealing  solemnly. 
Oh!  the  bells  of  Shandon 
Sound  far  more  grand,  on 

The  pleasant  waters  of  the  river  Lee. 

There's  a  bell  in  Moscow  ; 

W^hile,  on  tower  and  kiosk  —  O- 
In  Saint  Sophia  the  Turkman  gets. 

And  loud  in  air 

Calls  men  to  prayer. 
From  the  tapering  summits  of  tall  minarets. 


ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS.  389 

Such  empty  phantom 

I  freely  grant  them  ; 
But  there's  anthem  more  dear  to  me  : 

'Tis  the  bells  of  Shandon, 

That  sound  so  grand,  on 
The  pleasant  waters  of  the  river  Lee. 

Francis  Mahony. 


THE  DIVER. 


"  Oh,  where  is  the  knight  or  the  squire  so  bold, 
As  to  dive  to  the  howling  Charybdis  below: 

I  cast  into  the  whirlpool  a  goblet  of  gold, 
And  o'er  it  already  the  dark  waters  flow : 

Whoever  to  me  may  the  goblet  bring, 

Shall  have  for  his  guerdon  that  gift  of  his  king." 

He  spoke,  and  the  cup  from  the  terrible  steep, 
That,  rugged  and  hoary,  hung  over  the  verge 

Of  the  endless  and  measureless  world  of  the  deep. 
Swirled  into  the  maelstrom  that  maddened  the  surge. 

"  And  where  is  the  diver  so  stout  to  go  — 

I  ask  ye  again  —  to  the  deep  below  ? " 

And  the  knights  and  the  squires  that  gathered  around. 
Stood  silent —  and  fixed  on  the  ocean  their  eyes  ; 

They  looked  on  the  dismal  and  savage  profound, 

And  the  peril  chilled  back  every  thought  of  the  prize 

And  thrice  spoke  the  monarch  —  "  The  cup  to  win. 

Is  there  never  a  wight  who  will  venture  in?" 

And  all  as  before  heard  in  silence  the  king  — 

Till  a  youth,  with  an  aspect  unfearing  but  gentle, 

'Mid  the  tremulous  squires,  stepped  out  from  the  ring, 
Unbuckling  iiis  girdle  and  doffing  his  mantle  ; 

And  the  murmuring  crowd,  as  they  parted  asunder, 
On  the  stately  boy  cast  their  looks  of  wonder. 


390  ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS. 

As  he  strode  to  the  marge  of  the  summit,  and  gave 
One  glance  on  the  gulf  of  that  merciless  main, 

Lo  !  the  wave  that  forever  devours  the  wave, 
Casts  roaringly  up  the  Charybdis  again  ; 

And,  as  with  the  swell  of  the  far  thunder-boom, 

Rushes  foamingly  forth  from  the  heart  of  the  gloom. 

And  it  bubbles  and  seethes,  and  it  hisses  and  roars. 

As  when  fire  is  with  water  commixed  and  contending; 

And  the  spray  of  its  wrath  to  the  welkin  up-soars. 
And  flood  upon  flood  hurries  on,  never  ending. 

And  it  never  will  rest,  nor  from  travail  be  free, 

Like  a  sea  that  is  laboring  the  birth  of  a  sea. 

And  at  last  there  lay  open  the  desolate  realm  ! 

Through  the  breakers  that  whitened  the  waste  of  the  swell. 
Dark  —  dark  yawned  a  cleft  in  the  midst  of  the  whelm. 

The  path  to  the  heart  of  that  fathomless  hell. 
Round  and  round  whirled  the  waves  —  deep  and  deeper  still 

driven. 
Like  a  gorge  through  the  mountainous  main  thunder-riven. 

The  youth  gave  his  trust  to  his  Maker !     Before 
That  path  through  the  riven  abyss  closed  again  — 

Hark  !  a  shriek  from  the  crowd  rang  aloft  from  the  shore, 
And  behold  !   he  is  whirled  in  the  grasp  of  the  main  ! 

And  o'er  him  the  breakers  mysteriously  rolled, 

And  the  giant-mouth  closed  on  the  swimmer  so  bold. 

O'er  the  surface  grim  silence  lay  dark  and  profound, 
But  th»  deep  from  below  murmured  hollow  and  fell ; 

And  the  crowd,  as  it  shuddered,  lamented  aloud  — 

''  Gallant  youth  —  noble  heart  —  fare- thee- well,  fare-thee- 
well !  " 

And  still  ever  deepening  that  wail  as  of  woe. 

More  hollow  the  gulf  sent  its  howl  from  below. 

If  thou  should'st  in  those  waters  thy  diadem  fling. 

And  cry,  *'  Who  may  find  it  shall  win  it,  and  wear ;  * 


ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS.  391 

God  wot,  though  the  prize  were  the  crown  of  a  king  — 

A  crown  at  such  hazards  were  valued  too  dear ; 
For  never  did  Hps  of  the  living  reveal, 
What  the  deeps  that  howl  yonder  in  terror  conceal. 

Oh  !   many  a  ship,  to  that  breast  grappled  fast, 

Has  gone  down  to  the  fearful  and  fathomless  grave, 

Again,  crashed  together  the  keel  and  the  mast, 
To  be  seen,  tossed  aloft  in  the  glee  of  the  wave. 

Like  the  growth  of  a  storm  ever  louder  and  clearer, 

Grows  the  roar  of  the  gulf  rising  nearer  and  nearer. 

And  it  bubbles  and  seethes,  and  it  hisses  and  roars. 
As  when  fire  is  with  water  commixed  and  contending  5 

And  the  spray  of  its  wrath  to  the  welkin  up-soars, 
And  flood  upon  flood  hurries  on,  never  ending. 

And,  as  with  the  swell  of  the  far  thunder-boom, 

Rushes  roaringly  forth  from  the  heart  of  the  gloom. 

And,  lo  I  from  the  heart  of  that  far  floating  gloom, 
What  gleams  on  the  darkness  so  swanlike  and  white? 

Lo  !  an  arm  and  a  neck,  glancing  up  from  the  tomb  !  — 
They  battle  —  the  man's  with  the  element's  might. 

It  is  he  —  it  is  he  !  —  in  his  left  hand  behold. 

As  a  sign  —  as  a  joy  !  —  shines  the  goblet  of  gold 

And  he  breathed  deep,  and  he  breathed  long, 
And  he  greeted  the  heavenly  light  of  the  day. 

They  gaze  on  each  other  —  they  shout  as  they  throng  — 
"  He  lives  —  lo,  the  ocean  has  rendered  its  prey  !  " 

And  safe  from  the  whirlpool,  and  free  from  the  grave, 

Comes  back  to  the  daylight  the  soul  of  the  brave. 

And  he  comes  with  the  crowd  in  their  clamor  and  glee ; 

And  the  goblet  his  daring  has  won  from  the  water 
He  lifts  to  the  king  as  he  sinks  on  his  knee  ; 

And  the  king  from  her  maidens  has  beckoned  his  daughter. 
She  pours  to  the  boy  the  bright  wine  which  they  bring, — 
And  thus  spake  the  diver  — ''  Long  life  to  the  king ! 


392  ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS. 

"  Happy  they  whom  the  rose-hues  of  daylight  rejoice, 
The  air  and  the  sky  that  to  mortals  are  given ! 

May  the  horror  below  nevermore  find  a  voice, 

Nor  man  stretch  too  far  the  wide  mercy  of  Heaven ! 

Nevermore —  nevermore  may  he  lift  from  the  mirror, 

The  veil  which  is  woven  with  Night  and  with  Terror ! 

"  Qiiick  brightening  like  lightning  —  it  tore  me  along, 
Down,  down,  till  the  gush  of  a  torrent  at  play 

In  the  rocks  of  its  wilderness  caught  me  —  and  strong 
As  the  wings  of  an  eagle  it  whirled  me  away. 

Vain,  vain  were  my  struggles  —  the  circle  had  won  me  ; 

Round  and  round  in  its  dance  the  wild  element  spun  me. 

''  And  I  called  on  my  God,  and  my  God  heard  my  prayer, 
In  the  strength  of  my  need,  in  the  gasp  of  my  breath. 

And  showed  me  a  crag  that  rose  up  from  the  lair. 

And  I  clung  to  it,  trembling  —  and  baffled  the  death  ! 

And,  safe  in  the  perils  around  me,  behold 

On  the  spikes  of  the  coral  the  goblet  of  gold. 

"  Below,  at  the  foot  of  that  precipice  drear. 

Spread  the  gloomy,  and  purple,  and  patliless  obscure ! 

A  silence  of  horror  that  slept  on  the  ear, 

That  the  eye  more  appalled  might  the  horror  endure ! 

Salamander  —  snake  —  dragon  —  vast  reptiles  that  dw^ell 

In  the  deep  —  coiled  about  the  grim  jaws  of  their  hell. 

''  Dark  crawled  —  glided  dark  the  unspeakable  swarms, 
Clumped  together  in  masses,  misshapen  and  vast ; 

Here  clung  and  here  bristled  the  fashionless  forms  — 
Here  the  dark  moving  bulk  of  the  hammer-fish  passed  ; 

And  with  teeth  grinning  wdiite,  and  a  menacing  motion. 

Went  the  terrible  shark  —  the  hyena  of  ocean. 

"There  I  hung,  and  the  awe  gathered  icily  o'er  me, 

So  far  from  the  earth  where  man's  help  there  was  none ! 


ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS.  393 

The  one  human  thing,  with  the  goblins  before  me  — 

Alone  —  in  a  loneness  so  ghastly  —  alone  ! 
Fathom-deep  from  man's  eye  in  the  speechless  profound, 
With  the  death  of  the  main  and  the  monsters  around. 

'^  Methought,  as  I  gazed  through  the  darkness,  that  now 
A  hundred-limbed  creature  caught  sight  of  its  prey, 

And  darted  —  O  God  !   from  the  far-flaming  bough 
Of  the  coral,  I  swept  on  the  horrible  way  ; 

And  it  seized  me,  the  wave  with  its  wrath  and  its  roar. 

It  seized  me  to  save,  — King,  the  danger  is  o'er  !  " 

On  the  youth  gazed  the  monarch,  and  marvelled  — quoth  he, 
''  Bold  diver,  the  goblet  I  promised  is  thine, 

And  this  ring  will  I  give,  a  fresh  guerdon  to  thee,  — 
Never  jewels  more  precious  shone  up  from  the  mine, 

If  thou'lt  bring  me  fresh  tidings,  and  venture  again, 

To  say  what  lies  hid  in  the  innermost  main  ! " 

Then  outspake  the  daughter  in  tender  emotion, 

'^  Ah  !  father,  my  father,  what  more  can  there  rest? 

Enough  of  this  sport  with  the  pitiless  ocean  — 

He  has  served  thee  as  none  would,  thyself  hast  confest. 

If  nothing  can  slack  thy  wild  thirst  of  desire, 

Be  your  knights  not,  at  least,  put  to  shame  by  the  squire  J" 

The  king  seized  the  goblet  —  he  swung  it  on  high. 

And  whirling,  it  fell  in  the  roar  of  the  tide; 
"  But  bring  back  that  goblet  again  to  my  eye, 

And  ril  hold  thee  the  dearest  that  rides  by  my  side  ; 

nd  thine  arms  shall  embrace  as  thy  bride,  I  decree. 
The  maiden  whose  pity  now  pleadeth  for  thee." 

n  his  heart,  as  he  listened,  there  leaped  the  wild  joy  — 
And  the  hope  and  the  love  through  his  eyes  spoke  in  fire— ■ 

On  that  bloom,  on  that  blush,  gazed,  delighted,  the  boy; 
Tiie  maiden  she  faints  at  the  feet  of  her  sire  ! 

Here  the  guerdon  divine,  there  the  danger  beneath  ; 

He  resolves  !  —  To  the  strife  with  the  life  and  the  death  ! 


I 


394  ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS. 

They  hear  the  loud  surges  sweep  back  in  their  swell ; 

Their  coming  the  thunder-sound  heralds  along ! 
Fond  eyes  are  yet  tracking  the  spot  where  he  fell  — 

They  come,  the  wild  waters,  in  tumult  and  throng, 
Rearing  up  to  the  cliff — roaring  back  as  before  ; 
But  no  wave  ever  brings  the  lost  youth  to  the  shore. 

Schiller. 


CRIME  ITS  OWN  DETECTER. 

Against  the  prisoner  at  the  bar,  as  an  individual,  I  cannot 
have  the  slightest  prejudice.  I  would  not  do  liim  the  small- 
est injury  or  injustice.  But  I  do  not  affect  to  be  indifferent 
to  the  discovery  and  the  punishment  of  this  deep  guilt.  I 
cheerfully  share  in  the  opprobrium,  how  much  soever  it  may 
be,  which  is  cast  on  those  wiio  feel  and  manifest  an  anxious 
concern  that  all  who  had  a  part  in  planning,  or  a  hand  in 
executing,  this  deed  of  midnight  assassination,  may  be 
brought  to  answer  for  their  enormous  crime  at  the  bar  of 
public  justice. 

Gentlemen,  it  is  a  most  extraordinary  case.  In  some 
respects,  it  has  hardly  a  precedent  anywhere;  certainly  none 
in  our  New-England  history.  This  bloody  drama  exhibited 
no  suddenly  excited,  ungovernable  rage,  llie  actors  in  it 
were  not  surprised  by  any  lion-like  temptation  springing 
upon  their  virtue,  and  overcoming  it  before  resistance  could 
begin.  Nor  did  they  do  the  deed  to  glut  savage  vengeance, 
or  satiate  long-settled  and  deadly  hate.  It  was  a  cool,  cal- 
culating, money-making  murder.  It  was  all  '•  hire  and 
salary,  not  revenge.''  It  was  the  weighing  of  money  against 
life  ;  the  counting  out  of  so  many  pieces  of  silver  against  so 
many  ounces  of  blood. 

An  aged  man,  without  an  enemy  in  the  world,  in  his  own 
house,  and  in  his  own  bed,  is  made  the  victim  of  a  butcherly 
murder  for  mere  pay.     Truly  here  is  a  new  lesson  for  painters 


I 


ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS.  395 

and  poets  !  Whoever  shall  hereafter  draw  the  portrait  of  a 
murder,  if  he  will  show  it  as  it  has  been  exhibited  in  one  exam- 
ple, where  such  example  was  last  to  have  been  looked  for, 
in  the  very  bosom  of  our  New^-England  society,  let  him  not 
give  it  the  grim  visage  of  Moloch,  the  brow  knitted  by  re- 
venge, the  face  black  with  settled  hate,  and  the  bloodshot 
eve  emitting  livid  fires  of  malice. 

Let  him  draw,  rather,  a  decorous,  smooth-faced,  bloodless 
demon  ;  a  picture  in  repose,  rather  than  in  action  ;  not  so 
much  an  example  of  human  nature  in  its  depravity  and  in  its 
paroxysms  of  crime,  as  an  infernal  nature,  [i  fiend,  in  the 
ordinary  display  and  development  of  his  character. 

The  deed  was  executed  with  a  degree  of  self-possession 
and  steadiness  equal  to  the  wickedness  v^'ith  which  it  was 
planned.  The  circumstances,  now  clearly  in  evidence, 
spread  out  the  whole  scene  before  us.  Deep  sleep  had 
fallen  on  the  destined  victim,  and  on  all  beneath  his  roof.  A 
healthful  old  man,  to  whom  sleep  was  sweet  —  the  first 
sound  slumbers  of  the  night  held  him  in  their  soft  but  stiong 
embrace. 

The  assassin  enters,  through  the  window  already  prepared, 
into  an  unoccupied  apartment.  With  noiseless  foot  he  paces 
the  lonely  hall,  half  lighted  by  the  moon  ;  he  winds  up  the 
ascent  of  the  stairs,  and  reaches  the  door  of  the  chamber  ;  of 
this  he  moves  the  lock,  by  soft  and  continued  pressure,  till  it 
turns  on  its  hinges;  and  he  enters,  and  beholds  his  victim 
before  him.  The  room  was  uncommonly  open  to  the  ad- 
mission of  light. 

The  face  of  the  innocent  sleeper  was  turned  froin  the  mur- 
derer, and  the  beams  of  the  moon,  resting  on  the  gray  locks 
of  his  aged  temple,  showed  him  where  to  strike.  The  fatal 
olow  is  given  !  and  the  victim  passes,  without  a  struggle  or 
a  motion,  from  the  repose  of  sleep  to  the  repose  of  death  !  It 
is  the  assassin's  purpose  to  make  sure  work,  and  he  yet  plies 
the  dagger,  though  it  was  obvious  that  life  had  been  destroyed 
by  the  blow  of  the  bludgeon. 

He  even  raises  the  aged  arm,  that  he  may  not  fail  in  his 


396  ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS. 

aim  at  the  heart,  and  replaces  it  again  over  the  wounds  of 
the  poniard  !  To  finish  the  picture,  he  explores  the  wrist  for 
the  pulse  !  he  feels  it,  and  ascertains  that  it  beats  no  longer  ! 
It  is  accomplished  —  the  deed  is  done  !  He  retreats,  retraces 
his  steps  to  tjie  window,  passes  out  through  it  as  he  came  in, 
and  escapes.  He  has  done  the  murder  ;  no  eye  has  seen  him  ; 
no  ear  has  heard  him  ;  the  secret  is  his  own,  and  he  is  safe! 

Ah,  gentlemen,  that  was  a  dreadful  mistake !  Such  a 
secret  can  be  safe  nowhere.  The  whole  creation  of  God  has 
neither  nook  nor  corner  where  the  guilty  can  bestow  it,  and 
say  it  is  safe  !  Not  to  speak  of  that  Eye  which  glances 
through  all  disguises,  and  beholds  everything  as  in  the  splen- 
dor of  noon  ;  such  secrets  of  guilt  are  never  safe  from  de- 
tection, even  by  man.  True  it  is,  generally  speaking,  that 
''  murder  will  out." 

True  it  is,  that  Providence  hath  so  ordained,  and  dotli  so 
govern  things,  that  those  who  break  the  great  law  of  Heaven, 
by  shedding  man's  blood,  seldom  succeed  in  avoiding  dis- 
covery ;  especially,  in  a  case  exciting  so  mucli  attention  as 
this,  discovery  must  and  will  come,  sooner  or  later.  A  thou- 
sand eyes  turn  at  once  to  explore  every  man,  every  thing, 
every  circumstance  connected  with  the  time  and  place;  a 
thousand  ears  catch  every  whisper  ;  a  thousand  excited  minds 
intensely  dwell  on  the  scene,  shedding  all  their  light,  and 
ready  to  kindle  the  slightest  circumstance  into  a  bhize  of  dis- 
covery. Meantime,  the  guilty  soul  cannot  keep  its  own 
secret. 

It  is  false  to  itself — or,  rather,  it  feels  an  irresistible  impulse 
of  conscience  to  be  true  to  itself;  it  labors  under  its  guilty 
possession,  and  knows  not  what  to  do  with  it.  The  human 
heart  was  not  made  for  the  residence  of  such  an  inhabitani  ; 
it  finds  itself  preyed  on  by  a  torment,  which  it  dares  not 
acknowledge  to  God  or  man.  A  vulture  is  devouring  it,  and 
it  asks  no  sympathy  or  assistance  either  Irom  heaven  or 
earth.  The  secret  which  the  murderer  possesses  soon  comes 
to  possess  him  ;  and,  like  the  evil  spirits  of  which  we  read, 
it  overcomes  him,  and  leads  him  whithersoever  it  will. 


ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS.  397 

He  feels  it  beating  at  his  heart,  rising  to  his  throat,  and  de- 
manding disclosure.  He  thinks  the  whole  world  sees  it  in 
his  face,  reads  it  in  his  eyes,  and  almost  hears  its  workings 
in  the  very  silence  of  his  thoughts.  It  has  become  his 
master  ;  it  betrays  his  discretion  ;  it  breaks  down  his  courage  ; 
it  conquers  his  prudence.  When  suspicions  from  without 
begin  to  embarrass  him,  and  the  net  of  circumstances  to 
entangle  him,  the  fatal  secret  struggles  with  still  greater  vio- 
lence  to  burst  forth.  It  must  be  confessed  :  it  will  be  con- 
fessed. There  is  no  refuge  from  confession  but  suicide  ;  and 
suicide  is  confession  !  Daniel  Webster. 


ODE  FOR  ST.  CECILIA'S  DAY, 

From  harmony,  from  heavenly  harmony, 

This  universal  frame  began  !  — 
When  nature  underneath  a  heap 
Of  jarring  atoms  lay. 

And  could  not  heave  her  head, 
The  tuneful  voice  was  heard  from  high, 

"  Arise  ye  more  than  dead  !  " 
Then  cold,  and  hot,  and  moist,  and  dry, 

In  order  to  their  stations  leap. 
And  Music's  power  obey. 

From  harmony,  from  heavenly  harmony, 

This  universal  frame  began  ; 

From  harmony  to  harmony. 
Through  all  the  compass  of  the  notes  it  ran, 
The  diapason  closing  full  in  man. 

What  passion  cannot  music  raise  and  quell? 
When  Jubal  struck  the  chorded  shell. 

His  listening  brethren  stood  around. 
And,  wondering,  on  their  faces  fell 

To  worship  that  celestial  sound. 


398  ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS. 

Less  than  a  god  they  thought  there  could  not  dwell 
Within  the  hollow  of  that  shell, 
That  spoke  so  sweetly  and  so  well. 

What  passion  cannot  music  raise  and  quell? 

The  trumpet's  loud  clangor 

Excites  us  to  arms, 
With  shrill  notes  of  anger, 

And  mortal  alarms. 
The  double,  double,  double  beat 

Of  the  thundering  drum, 

Cries,  ''  Hark  !  the  foes  come  ; 
Charge,  charge  !  'tis  too  late  to  retreat." 

The  soft  complaining  flute 

In  dying  notes  discovers 

The  woes  of  hapless  lovers. 
Whose  dirge  is  whispered  by  the  warbling  lute. 

Sharp  violins  proclaim 

Their  jealous  pangs,  and  desperation, 

Fury,  frantic  indignation. 
Depths  of  pain  and  height  of  passion, 
For  the  fair  disdainful  dame. 

But,  O  !  what  art  can  teach, 
What  human  voice  can  reach, 
The  sacred  organ's  praise  ! 

Notes  inspiring  holy  love. 
Notes  that  wing  their  heavenly  ways 
To  mend  the  choirs  above. 
Orpheus  could  lead  the  savage  race ; 
And  trees  uprooted  left  their  place, 

Sequacious  of  the  lyre  ; 
But  bright  Cecilia  raised  the  wonder  higher; 
When  to  her  organ  vocal  breath  was  given, 
An  angel  heard,  and  straight  appeared. 
Mistaking  earth  for  heaven. 

Dryden. 


ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS.  399 


THE    WONDERFUL   '' ONE-HOSS  SHAY:' 

Have  you  heard  of  the  wonderful  one-hoss  shay, 

That  was  built  in  such  a  logical  way 

It  ran  a  hundred  years  to  a  day, 

And  then,  of  a  sudden,  it  —  Ah,  but  stay, 

ril  tell  you  what  happened,  without  delay  — 

Scaring  the  parson  into  fits, 

Frightening  people  out  of  their  wits  — 

Have  you  ever  heard  of  that,  I  say  ? 

Seventeen  hundred  and  fifty-five, 
Georgius  Secundus  was  then  alive  — 
Snufly  old  drone  from  the  German  hive. 
That  v^as  the  year  when  Lisbon  town 
Saw  the  earth  open  and  gulp  her  down, 
And  Braddock's  army  was  done  so  brown, 
Left  without  a  scalp  to  its  crown. 
It  was  on  the  terrible  Earthquake-day 
That  the  Deacon  finished  the  one-hoss  shay. 

Now,  in  building  of  chaises,  I  tell  you  what. 

There  is  always,  somewhere,  a  weakest  spot  — 

In  hub,  tire,  felloe,  in  spring  or  thill, 

In  panel  or  crossbar,  or  floor,  or  sill, 

In  screw,  bolt,  thoroughbrace  —  lurking  still, 

Find  it  somewhere  you  must  and  will  — 

Above  or  below,  or  within  or  without  — 

And  that's  the  reason,  beyond  a  doubt, 

A  chaise  breaks  down,  but  doesn't  wear  out. 

But  the  Deacon  swore —  (as  Deacons  do. 

With  an  "  I  dew  vum  "  or  an  •'  I  tell  yeou  ")  — 

He  would  build  one  shay  to  beat  the  taown 

'N'  the  keounty  'n'  all  the  kentry  raoun' ; 

It  should  be  so  built  that  it  couldn't  break  daown :  - 


400  ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS. 

''  Fur/'  said  the  Deacon,  ''  it's  mighty  plain 
Thut  the  weakes'  place  mus*  stan'  the  strain, 
'N'  the  way  t'  fix  it,  uz  I  maintain, 

Is  only  jest 
To  make  that  place  uz  strong  uz  the  rest." 

So  the  Deacon  inquired  of  the  village  folk 

Where  he  could  find  the  strongest  oak, 

That  couldn't  be  split,  nor  bent,  nor  broke  — 

That  was  for  spokes,  and  floor  and  sills  ; 

He  sent  for  lancewood,  to  make  the  thills ; 

The  crossbars  were  ash,  from  the  straightest  trees; 

The  panels  of  white-wood,  that  cuts  like  cheese. 

But  lasts  like  iron  for  things  like  these  ; 

The  hubs  from  logs  from  the  "  Settler's  ellum  "  — 

Last  of  its  timber  —  they  couldn't  sell  'em  — 

Never  an  axe  had  seen  their  chips, 

And  the  wedges  flew  from  between  their  lips, 

Their  blunt  ends  frizzled  like  celery-tips  ; 

Step  and  prop-iron,  bolt  and  screw, 

Spring,  tire,  axle,  and  linchpin  too. 

Steel  of  the  finest,  bright  and  blue  ; 

Thoroughbrace  bison-skin,  thick  and  wide; 

Boot,  top,  dasher,  from  tough  old  hide, 

Found  in  the  pit  where  the  tanner  died. 

That  was  the  way  he  "  put  her  through." 

"  There  !  "  said  the  Deacon,  "  naow  she'll  dew  !  " 

Do  !  I  tell  you,  I  rather  guess 

She  was  a  wonder,  and  nothing  less ! 

Colts  grew  horses,  beards  turned  gray, 

Deacon  and  deaconess  dropped  away, 

Children  and  grandchildren  —  where  were  they? 

But  there  stood  the  stout  old  one-hoss  shay, 

As  fresh  as  on  Lisbon  earthquake-day  ! 

Eighteen  hundred  —  it  came,  and  found 
The  Deacon's  masterpiece  strong  and  sound. 


1 


ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS.  401 

Eighteen  hundred,  increased  by  ten  — 
"  Hahusum  kerridge  "  they  called  it  then. 
Eighteen  hundred  and  twenty  came  — 
Running  as  usual  —  much  the  same. 
Thirty  and  forty  at  last  arrive  ; 
And  then  came  fifty  —  and  fifty-five. 

Little  of  all  we  value  here 

Wakes  on  the  morn  of  its  hundredth  year 

Without  both  feeling  and  looking  queer. 

In  fact,  there's  nothing  that  keeps  its  youth, 

So  far  as  I  know,  but  a  tree  and  truth. 

(This  is  a  moral  that  runs  at  large  : 

Take  it.  — You're  welcome.  —  No  extra  charge.) 

First  of  November  —  the  Earthquake-day. 

There  are  traces  of  age  in  the  one-hoss  shay, 

A  general  flavor  of  mild  decay  — 

But  nothing  local,  as  one  may  say. 

There  couldn't  be  —  for  the  Deacon's  art 

Had  made  it  so  like  in  every  part 

That  there  wasn't  a  chance  for  one  to  start. 

For  the  wheels  were  just  as  strong  as  the  thills, 
And  the  floor  was  just  as  strong  as  the  sills, 
And  the  panels  just  as  strong  as  the  floor, 
And  the  whipple-tree  neither  less  nor  more, 
And  the  back  crossbar  as  strong  as  the  fore. 
And  spring,  and  axle,  and  hub  encore. 
And  yet,  as  a  whole,  it  is  past  a  doubt 
In  another  hour  it  will  be  worn  out! 

First  of  November,  'Fifty-five  ! 
This  morning  the  parson  takes  a  drive. 
Now,  small  boys,  get  out  of  the  way  ! 
Here  comes  the  wonderful  one-hoss  sha}^, 
Drawn  by  a  rat-tailed,  ewe-necked  bay. 
''  Iluddup  !  "  said  the  parson.  —  OS  went  they. 
26 


402  ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS. 

The  parson  was  working  his  Sunday  text  — 
Had  got  to  fifthly,  and  stopped  perplexed 
At  what  the  —  Moses  —  was  coming  next. 
All  at  once  the  horse  stood  still, 
Close  by  the  meet'n'-house  on  the  hill. 
—  First  a  shiver,  and  then  a  thrill, 
Then  something  decidedly  like  a  spill  — 
And  the  parson  was  sitting  upon  a  rock. 
At  half-past  nine  by  the  meet'n*-house  clock  — 
Just  the  hour  of  the  Earthquake-shock  ! 

What  do  you  think  the  parson  found, 
When  he  got  up  and  stared  around? 
The  poor  old  chaise  in  a  heap  or  mound, 
As  if  it  had  been  to  the  mill  and  ground  ! 
You  see,  of  course,  if  you're  not  a  dunce. 
How  it  went  to  pieces  all  at  once  — 
All  at  once,  and  nothing  first  — 
Just  as  bubbles  do  when  they  burst. 
End  of  the  wonderful  one-hoss  shay. 
Logic  is  Logic.     That's  all  I  say. 

O.  W.  Holmes. 


IRISH  ALIENS  AND  ENGLISH    VICTORIES. 

I  SHOULD  be  surprised,  indeed,  if,  while  you  are  doing  us 
wrong,  you  did  not  profess  your  solicitude  to  do  us  justice. 
From  the  day  on  which  Strongbow  set  his  foot  upon  the 
shore  of  Ireland,  Englishmen  were  never  wanting  in  pro- 
testations of  their  deep  anxiety  to  do  us  justice; — even 
vStrafibrd,  the  deserter  of  the  people's  cause,  —  the  renegade 
Wcntworth,  who  gave  evidence  in  Ireland  of  the  spirit  of 
instinctive  tyranny  which  predominated  in  his  character, — 
even  Strafibrd,  while  he  trampled  upon  our  rights,  and  trod 
upon  the  heart  of  the  country,  protested  his  solicitude  to  do 
justice  to  Ireland  !     What  marvel  is  it,  then,  that  gentlemen 


ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS.  403 

opposite  should  deal  in  such  vehement  protestations?  There 
is,  however,  one  man  of  great  abilities,  —  not  a  member  of 
this  House,  but  whose  talents  and  whose  boldness  have 
placed  him  in  the  topmost  place  in  his  party,  —  who,  dis- 
daining all  imposture,  and  thinking  it  the  best  course  to 
.••,')[)eal  directly  to  the  religious  and  national  antipathies  of 
lue  people  of  this  country,  —  abandoning  all  reserve,  and 
Hniging  off  the  slender  veil  by  which  his  political  associates 
artect  to  cover,  although  they  cannot  hide,  their  motives, — 
distinctly  and  audaciously  tells  the  Irish  people  that  they  are 
not  entitled  to  the  same  privileges  as  Englishmen  ;  and  pro- 
nounces them,  in  any  particular  which  could  enter  his 
minute  enumeration  of  the  circumstances  by  which  fellow- 
citizenship  is  created,  in  race,  identity,  and  religion  to  be 
aliens  —  to  be  aliens  in  race  —  to  be  aliens  in  country  —  to 
be  aliens  in  religion !  Aliens !  Good  God  !  was  Arthur, 
Duke  of  Wellington,  in  the  House  of  Lords,  — and  did  he 
not  start  up  and  exclaim,  '*  Hold  !  I  have  seen  the  aliens  do 
their  duty  !  " 

Tiie  Duke  of  Wellington  is  not  a  man  of  an  excitable  tem- 
perament. His  mind  is  of  a  cast  too  martial  to  be  easily 
moved ;  but,  notwithstanding  his  habitual  inflexibility,  I 
cannot  help  thinking  that,  when  he  heard  his  Roman  Catho- 
lic countrymen  (for  we  are  his  countrymen)  designated  by  a 
phrase  as  offensive  as  the  abundant  vocabulary  of  his  elo- 
quent confederate  could  supply,  —  I  cannot  help  thinking 
that  he  ought  to  have  recollected  the  many  fields  of  fight  in 
which  we  have  been  contributors  to  his  renown.  ''  The  bat- 
tles, sieges,  fortunes,  that  he  has  passed,"  ouglu  to  have 
come  back  upon  him.  He  ought  to  have  remembered  that, 
from  the  earliest  achievement  in  which  he  displayed  that 
military  genius  which  has  placed  him  foremost  in  the  annals 
of  modern  warfare,  down  to  that  last  and  surpassing  combat 
which  has  made  his  name  imperishable,  —  from  Assaye  to 
Waterloo,  —  the  Irish  soldiers,  with  whom  your  armies  are 
filled,  were  the  inseparable  auxiliaries  to  the  glory  with 
which  his  unparalleled  successes  have  been  crowned.    VV  hose 


404  ADVANCED    READINGS   AND    RECITATIONS. 

were  the  arms  that  drove  your  bayonets  at  Vimiera  through 
the  phalanxes  that  never  reeled  to  the  shock  of  war  before  ? 
What  desperate  valor  climbed  the  steeps  and  filled  the 
moats  at  Badajos?  All  his  victories  should  have  rushed 
and  crowded  back  upon  his  memory,  —  Vimiera,  Badajos, 
Salamanca,  Albuera,  Toulouse,  and,  last  of  all,  the  great- 
est  

Tell  me,  — for  you  were  there,  —  I  appeal  to  the  gallant 
soldier  before  me,  from  whose  opinions  I  differ,  but  who 
bears,  I  know,  a  generous  heart  in  an  intrepid  breast;  — 
tell  me,  —  for  you  must  needs  remember,  —  on  that  day 
when  the  destinies  of  mankind  were  trembling  in  the  bal- 
ance,—  while  death  fell  in  showers  when  the  artillery  of 
France  was  levelled  with  a  precision  of  the  most  deadly 
science,  —  when  her  legions,  incited  by  the  voice  and  in- 
spired by  the  example  of  their  mighty  leader,  rushed  again 
and  again  to  the  onset,  —  tell  me  if,  for  an  instant,  when  to 
hesitate  for  an  instant  was  to  be  lost,  the  ''  aliens"  blenched? 
And  when,  at  length,  the  moment  for  the  last  and  decided 
movement  had  arrived,  and  the  valor  which  had  so  long 
been  wisely  checked  was,  at  last,  let  loose, —  when,  with 
words  familiar  but  immortal,  the  great  captain  commanded 
the  great  assault,  —  tell  me  if  Catholic  Ireland  with  less 
heroic  valor  than  the  natives  of  this  your  own  glorious  coun- 
try precipitated  herself  upon  the  foe?  The  blood  of  Eng- 
land, Scotland,  and  of  Ireland,  flowed  in  the  same  stream, 
and  drenched  the  same  field.  When  the  chill  morninijj 
dawned,  their  dead  lay  cold  and  stark  together ;  —  in  the 
same  deep  pit  their  bodies  were  deposited  ;  the  green  corn 
of  spring  is  now  breaking  from  their  commingled  dust;  the 
dew  falls  from  heaven  upon  their  union  in  the  grave.  Par- 
takers in  every  peril,  in  the  glory  shall  we  not  be  permitted 
to  participate  ;  and  shall  we  be  told  as  a  requital,  that  we 
are  estranged  from  the  noble  country  for  whose  salvation  our 
life-blood  was  poured  out?  R.  L.  Sheil. 


ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS.  405 


THE   TEAR    OF  REPENTANCE. 

One  morn  a  Peri  at  the  gate 
Of  Eden  stood,  disconsolate  ; 
And  as  she  listened  to  the  springs 
Of  life  within,  like  music  flowing, 
And  caught  the  light  upon  her  wings 
Through  the  half-open  portal  glowing, 
She  wept  to  think  her  recreant  race 
Should  e'er  have  lost  that  glorious  place ! 

"How  happy,*'  exclaimed  this  child  of  air, 
"  Are  the  holy  spirits  who  wander  there, 
'Mid  flowers  that  never  shall  fade  or  fall ! 
Though  mine  are  the  gardens  of  earth  and  sea, 
One  blossom  of  heaven  outblooms  them  all !  " 

The  glorious  angel  who  was  keeping 
The  gates  of  light,  beheld  her  weeping ; 
And,  as  he  nearer  drew  and  listened, 
A  tear  within  his  eyelids  glistened. — 
"Nymph  of  a  fair  but  erring  line  !  " 
Gently  he  said,  "  one  hope  is  thine. 
'Tis  written  in  the  book  of  fate. 
The  Peri  yet  may  be  forgiven. 
Who  brings  to  this  eternal  gate 
The  gift  that  is  most  dear  to  Heaven  I 
Go,  seek  it,  and  redeem  thy  sin  ; 
'Tis  sweet  to  let  the  pardoned  in  !  " 

Rapidly  as  comets  run 

To  the  embraces  of  the  sun, 

Down  the  blue  vault  the  Peri  flies, 

And,  lighted  earthward  by  a  glance 

That  just  then  broke  from  morning's  eyes, 

Hung  hovering  o'er  our  world's  expanse. 


406  ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS. 

Over  the  vale  of  Baalbec  winging,     . 

The  Peri-  sees  a  child  at  play, 
Among  the  rosy  wild-flowers  singing, 

As  rosy  and  as  wild  as  they ; 
Chasing  with  eager  hands  and  eyes, 
The  beautiful  blue  damsel- flies 
That  fluttered  round  the  jasmine  stems. 
Like  winged  flowers  or  flying  gems: 
And  near  the  boy,  who,  tired  with  play, 
Now  nestling  'mid  the  roses  lay, 
She  saw  a  wearied  man  dismount 

From  his  hot  steed,  and  on  the  brink 
Of  a  small  temple's  rustic  fount 

Impatient  fling  him  down  to  drink. 

Then  swift  his  haggard  brow  he  turned 
To  the  fair  child,  who  fearless  sat  — 
Though  never  yet  hath  day-beam  burned 
Upon  a  brow  more  fierce  than  that  — 
Sullenly  fierce  —  a  mixture  dire. 
Like  thunder-clouds  of  gloom  and  fire, 
In  which  the  Peri's  eye  could  read 
Dark  tales  of  many  a  ruthless  deed. 

Yet  tranquil  now  that  man  of  crime 
(As  if  the  balmy  evening  time 
Softened  his  spirit)  looked  and  lay. 
Watching  the  rosy  infant's  play ; 
Though  still,  whene'er  his  eye  by  chance 
Fell  on  the  boy's,  its  lurid  glance 

Met  that  unclouded,  joyous  gaze. 
As  torches  that  have  burnt  all  night 

Encounter  morning's  glorious  rays. 

But  hark  !  the  vesper  call  to  prayer, 
As  slow  the  orb  of  daylight  sets, 

Is  rising  sweetly  on  the  air 

From  Syria's  thousand  minarets  I 


ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS.  407 

The  boy  has  started  from  the  bed 

Of  flowers,  where  he  had  laid  his  head, 

And  down  upon  the  fragrant  sod 

Kneels,  with  his  forehead  to  the  south, 
Lisping  th'  eternal  name  of  God 

From  purity's  own  cherub  mouth  ; 
And  looking,  while  his  hands  and  eyes 
Are  lifted  to  the  glowing  skies, 
Like  a  stray  babe  of  paradise, 
Just  lighted  on  that  flowery  plain, 
And  seeking  for  its  home  again  ! 

And  how  felt  he,  the  wretched  man 

Reclining  there  —  while  memory  ran 

O'er  many  a  year  of  guilt  and  strife 

That  marked  the  dark  flood  of  his  life, 

Nor  found  one  sunny  resting-place. 

Nor  brought  him  back  one  branch  of  grace?  — 

"  There  was  a  time,"  he  said,  in  mild, 

Heart-humbled  tones,  "  thou  blessed  child  ! 

When  young,  and  haply  pure  as  thou, 

I  looked  and  prayed  like  thee  ;  but  now^  — 

He  hung  his  head  ;  each  nobler  aim 

And  hope  and  feeling  which  had  slept 
From  boyhood's  hour,  that  instant  came 

Fresh  o'er  him,  and  he  wept  —  he  wept ! 

And  now  ;  behold  him  kneeling  there. 
By  the  child's  side  in  humble  prayer, 
While  the  same  sunbeam  shines  upon 
The  guilty  and  the  guiltless  one. 
And  hymns  of  joy  proclaim  through  heaven 
The  triumph  of  a  soul  forgiven  ! 

'Twas  when  the  golden  orb  had  set. 
While  on  their  knees  they  lingered  yet. 
There  fell  a  light  more  lovely  far 
Than  ever  came  from  sun  or  star  — 


408  ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS. 

Upon  the  tear  that,  warm  and  meek, 

Dewed  that  repentant  sinner's  cheek : 

To  mortal  eye  this  h'ght  might  seem 

A  northern  flash  or  meteor  beam  ; 

But  well  th'  enraptured  Peri  knew 

*Twas  a  bright  smile  the  angel  threw 

From  heaven's  gate,  to  hail  that  tear  — 

Her  harbinger  of  glory  near  ! 

"Joy  !  joy  !  "  she  cried  ;  "  my  task  is  done  — 

The  gates  are  passed,  and  heaven  is  won  !  " 

Thomas  Moore. 


Y 


PATRIOTISM. 


Bereft  of  patriotism,  the  heart  of  a  nation  will  oe  cold 
and  cramped  and  sordid  ;  the  arts  will  have  no  enduring 
impulse,  and  commerce  no  invigorating  soul ;  society  will 
degenerate,  and  the  mean  and  vicious  triumph.  Patriotism 
is  not  a  wild  and  glittering  passion,  but  a  glorious  reality. 
The  virtue  that  gave  to  Paganism  its  dazzling  lustre,  to 
Barbarism  its  redeeming  trait,  to  Christianity  its  heroic  form, 
is  not  dead.  It  still  lives  to  console,  to  sanctify  humanity. 
It  has  its  altar  in  every  clime  ;  its  worship  and  festivities. 

On  the  heathered  hills  of  Scotland  the  sword  of  Wallace 
is  yet  a  bright  tradition.  The  genius  of  France,  in  the  bril- 
liant literature  of  the  day,  pays  its  high  homage  to  the  piely 
and  heroism  of  the  young  Maid  of  Orleans.  In  her  new 
Senate-Hall,  England  bids  her  sculptor  place,  among  the 
t'fllgies  of  her  greatest  sons,  the  images  of  Hampden  and  of 
Russell.  In  the  gay  and  graceful  capital  of  Belgium,  the 
ilaring  hand  of  Geefs  has  reared  a  monument  full  of  glorious 
meaning  to  the  three  hundred  martyrs  of  the  revolution.    . 

By  the  soft  blue  waters  of  Lake  Lucerne  stands  the  chapel 
of  William  Tell.  On  the  anniversary  of  his  revolt  and  vic- 
tory, across  those  waters,  as  they  glitter  in  the  July  sun,  skim 


ADVANCED    READINGS   AND    RECITATIONS.  409 

the  light  boats  of  the  allied  Cantons,  from  the  prows  hang  the 
banners  of  the  Republic,  and  as  they  near  the  sacred  spot, 
the  daughters  of  Lucerne  chant  the  hymns  of  their  old  poetic 
land.  Then  bursts  forth  tlie  glad  Te  Deum,  and  Heaven 
Mgnin  hears  the  voice  of  that  wild  chivalry  of  the  mountains, 
which  five  centuries  since  pierced  the  white  eagle  of  Vienna, 
and  flung  it  bleeding  on  the  rocks  of  Uri. 

At  Innspruck,  in  the  black  aisle  of  the  old  Cathedral,  the 
peasant  of  the  Tyrol  kneels  before  the  statue  of  Andreas 
Hofer.  In  the  defiles  and  valleys  of  the  Tyrol  who  forgets 
the  day  on  which  he  fell  within  the  walls  of  Mantua?  It  is 
a  festive  day  all  through  his  quiet,  noble  land. 

In  that  old  Cathedral  his  inspiring  memory  is  recalled 
amid  the  pageantries  of  the  altar:  his  image  appears  in 
every  house:  his  victories  and  virtues  are  proclaimed  in  the 
songs  of  the  people  :  and  when  the  sun  goes  down,  a  chain 
of  fires,  in  the  deep  red  light  of  which  the  eagle  spreads  his 
wings  and  holds  his  giddy  revelry,  proclaims  the  glory  of  the 
chief  whose  blood  has  made  his  native  land  a  sainted  spot 
in  Europe.  T.  F.  Meagher. 


MIDSUMMER, 


Around  this  lovely  valley  rise 
The  purple  hills  of  Paradise. 
Oh,  softly  on  yon  banks  of  haze 
Her  rosy  face  the  Summer  lays! 
Becalmed  along  the  azure  sky, 
The  argosies  of  Cloudland  lie, 
Whose  shores,  with  many  a  shining  rift, 
Far  oir  their  pearl-white  peaks  uplift. 

Through  all  the  long  midsummer  day 
The  meadow-sides  are  sweet  with  hay. 
I  seek  the  coolest  sheltered  seat, 
Just  where  the  field  and  forest  meet,  — 


410  ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS. 

Where  grow  the  pine-trees  tall  and  bland, 
The  ancient  oaks  austere  and  grand, 
And  fringy  roots  and  pebbles  fret 
The  ripples  of  the  rivulet. 

I  watch  the  mowers,  as  they  go 
Through  tiie  tall  grass,  a  wdiite-sleeved  row. 
With  even  stroke  their  scythes  they  swing, 
In  tune  their  merry  wdietstones  ring. 
Behind,  the  nimble  youngsters  run, 
And  toss  the  thick  swaths  in  the  sun. 
The  cattle  graze,  while,  warm  and  still, 
Slopes  the  broad  pasture,  basks  the  hill. 
And  bright,  where  summer  breezes  break. 
The  green  wheat  crinkles  like  a  lake. 

The  butterfly  and  humble-bee 
Come  to  the  pleasant  woods  with  me ; 
Qiiickly  before  me  runs  the  quail. 
Her  chickens  skulk  behind  the  rail; 
High  up  the  lone  wood-pigeon  sits^ 
And  the  woodpecker  pecks  and  flits, 
Sweet  woodland  music  sinks  and  swells, 
The  brooklet  rings  its  tinkling  bells. 
The  swarming  insects  drone  and  hum. 
The  partridge  beats  his  throbbing  drum. 
The  squirrel  leaps  among  the  boughs. 
And  chatters  in  his  leafy  house. 
The  oriole  flashes  by  ;  and,  look  ! 
Into  the  mirror  of  the  brook, 
Where  the  vain  bluebird  trims  his  coat, 
Two  tiny  feathers  fall  and  float. 

As  silently,  as  tenderl}^. 
The  down  of  peace  descends  on  me. 
Oh,  this  is  peace  !     I  have  no  need 
Of  friend  to  talk,  of  book  to  read  : 


ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS.  411 

A  dear  Companion  here  abides  ; 
Close  to  my  thrilling  heart  He  hides : 
The  holy  silence  is  his  voice  : 

I  lie  and  listen,  and  rejoice. 

J.  T.  Trowbridge. 


THE  MINUTE  MEN  OF  '76. 

Two  HUNDRED  years  ago,  Mary  Shepherd,  a  girl  of  fifteen, 
was  watching  the  savages  on  the  hills  of  Concord,  while  her 
brothers  threshed  in  the  barn.  Suddenl}^  the  Indians  ap- 
peared, slew  the  brothers,  and  carried  her  away.  In  the 
night,  while  the  savages  slept,  she  untied  a  stolen  horse, 
slipped  a  saddle  from  under  the  head  of  one  of  her  captors, 
mounted,  fled,  swam  the  Nashua  River,  and  rode  througli 
Hie  forest,  home.  Mary  Shepherd  was  the  true  ancestor 
of  the  Minute  Man  of  the  Revolution.  The  Minute 
Man  of  the  Revolution!  And  who  was  he?  He  was 
the  husband  and  father,  who  left  the  plough  in  the  fur- 
row, the  hammer  on  the  bench,  and,  kissing  wife  and 
children,  marched  to  die  or  to  be  free!  The  Minute  Man 
of  the  Revolution  !  He  was  the  old,  the  middle-aged,  the 
young.  He  was  Captain  Miles,  of  Acton,  who  reproved  his 
men  for  jesting  on  the  march !  He  was  Deacon  Josiah 
Haines,  of  Sudbury,  eighty  years  old,  who  marched  with  his 
company  to  South  Bridge,  at  Concord,  then  joined  in  that 
hot  pursuit  to  Lexington,  and  fell  as  gloriously  as  Warren  at 
Buni^er  Hill.  He  was  James  Hay  ward,  of  Acton,  twenty- 
two  years  old,  foremost  in  that  deadly  race  from  Charlestown 
to  Concord,  who  raised  his  piece  at  the  same  moment  with 
a  British  soldier,  each  exclaiming,  '^  You  are  a  dead  man." 
The  Briton  dropped,  shot  through  the  heart.  Hayvs^ard  fell. 
)T)ortally  wounded.  "Father,"  said  he,  "I  started  with  forty 
balls  ;  I  have  three  left.  I  never  did  such  a  day's  work  be- 
fore. Tell  mother  not  to  mourn  too  much  ;  and  tell  her 
whom  I  love  more  than  my  mother  that  I  am  not  sorry 
[  turned  out.*'   This  was  the  Minute  Man  of  the  Revolution  ! 


412  ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS. 

The  rural  citizen,  trained  in  the  common  school,  the  town- 
meeting,  who  carried  a  bayonet  that  thought,  and  whose 
gun  loaded  with  a  principle,  brought  down,  not  a  man,  but  a 
system.  With  brain  and  heart  and  conscience  all  alive,  he 
opposed  every  hostile  order  of  British  counsel.  The  cold 
vGrenville,  the  brilliant  Townsend,  the  reckless  Hillsborough, 
derided,  declaimed,  denounced,  laid  unjust  taxes,  and  sent 
troops  to  collect  them  ;  and  the  plain  Boston  Puritan  laid 
his  finger  on  the  vital  point  of  the  tremendous  controversy, 
and  held  to  it  inexorably.  Intrenched  in  his  own  honesty, 
the  king's  gold  could  not  buy  him  ;  enthroned  in  the  love  of 
his  fellow-citizens,  the  king's  writ  could  not  take  him  ;  and 
when,  on  the  morning  at  Lexington,  the  king's  troops 
marched  to  seize  him,  his  sublime  faith  saw,  beyond  the 
clouds  of  the  nioment,  the  rising  sun  of  the  America  we 
behold,  and  careless  of  himself,  mindful  only  of  his  country, 
lie  exultingly  exclaimed,  ''  Oh,  what  a  glorious  morning!" 
He  felt  that  a  blow  would  soon  be  struck  that  would  break 
the  heart  of  British  tyranny.  His  judgment,  his  conscience, 
told  him  the  hour  had  come.  Unconsciously,  his  heart  beat 
time  to  the  music  of  the  slave's  epitaph  : 

*'  God  wills  us  free, 
Man  wills  us  slaves. 
I  will  as  God  wills, 
God's  will  be  done." 

Do  you  remember,  in  that  disastrous  siege  in  India,  when 
the  little  Scotch  girl  raised  her  head  from  her  pallet  in  the 
hospital,  and  said  to  the  sickening  hearts  of  the  English, 
'^  I  hear  the  bagpipes;  the  Campbells  are  coming"?  And 
they  said,  ''No,  Jessie;  It  is  delirium."  '' No,  I  know  il  : 
I  heard  it  far  off."  And  in  an  hour  the  pibroch  burst  upon 
their  glad  ears,  and  the  banner  of  St.  George  floated  in 
triumph  over  their  heads. 

And  so,  at  Lexington  Square,  the  Minute  Man  of  the 
Revolution  heard  the  first  notes  of  the  jubilee  which,  to- 
day, rises  from  the  hearts  and  fills  the  minds  of  a  free 
people,  G.  W.  Curtis. 


ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS.  413 


LABOR  AND  GENIUS. 

The  prevailing  idea  with  young  people  has  been,  the 
incompatibility  of  labor  and  genius  ;  and,  therefore,  from 
the  fear  of  being  thought  dull,  they  have  thought  it  neces- 
sary to  remain  ignorant.  I  have  seen,  at  school  and  at 
college,  a  great  many  young  men  completely  destroyed  by 
liaving  been  so  unfortunate  as  to  produce  an  excellent  copy 
of  verses.  Their  genius  being  now  established,  all  that 
remained  for  them  to  do  was  to  act  up  to  the  dignity  of  the 
character;  and  as  this  dignity  consisted  in  reading  nothing 
new,  in  forgetting  what  they  had  already  read,  and  in  pre- 
tending to  be  acquainted  with  all  subjects  by  a  sort  of  off- 
hand exertion  of  talents,  they  soon  collapsed  into  the  most 
frivolous  and  insignificant  of  men. 

It  would  be  an  extremely  profitable  thing  to  draw  up  a 
short  and  well-authenticated  account  of  the  habits  of  study 
of  the  most  celebrated  writers  with  whose  style  of  literary 
industry  we  happen  to  be  most  acquainted.  It  would  go 
very  far  to  destroy  the  absurd  and  pernicious  association  of 
genius  and  idleness,  by  showing  that 'the  greatest  poets, 
orators,  statesmen,  and  historians  —  men  of  the  most  bril- 
liant and  imposing  talents  —  have  actually  labored  as  hard 
as  the  makers  of  dictionaries  and  the  arrangers  of  indexes  ; 
and  that  the  most  obvious  reason  why  they  have  been  supe- 
rior to  other  men  is,  that  they  have  taken  more  pains  than 
other  men. 

Gibbon  was  in  his  study  every  morning,  winter  and  sum- 
mer, at  six  o'clock :  Burke  was  the  most  laborious  and 
indefatigable  of  human  beings  :  Leibnitz  was  never  out  of 
liis  library:  Pascal  killed  himself  b}?'  study:  Cicero  narrowly 
escaped  death  from  the  same  cause :  Milton  was  at  his 
books  with  as  much  regularity  as  a  merchant  or  an  attorney  ; 
he  had  mastered  all  the  knowledge  of  his  time :  so  had 
Homer.  Raphael  lived  but  thirty-seven  years  ;  and  in  that 
short    space  cariied  the  art  of  painting  so  far  beyond  what 


414  ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS. 

it  had  before  reached,  that  he  appears  to  stand  alone  as  a 
model  to  his  successors. 

There  are  instances  to  the  contrary  ;  but,  generally  speak- 
in<j;,  the  life  of  all  truly  great  men  has  been  a  life  of  intense 
and  incessant  labor.  They  have  commonly  passed  the  first 
half  of  life  in  the  gross  darkness  of  indigent  humility  — 
overlooked,  mistaken,  contemned  by  weaker  men,  —  think- 
ing while  others  slept,  reading  while  others  rioted,  feeling 
something  within  them  that  told  them  they  should  not 
always  be  kept  down  among  the  dregs  of  the  world  ;  and 
then,  when  their  time  was  come,  and  some  little  accident 
had  given  them  their  first  occasion,  they  have  burst  out  into 
the  light  and  glory  of  public  life,  rich  with  the  spoils  of 
time,  and  mighty  in  all  the  labors  and  struggles  of  the 
mind. 

Then  do  the  multitude  cry  out,  "A  miracle  of  genius!  " 
Yes,  he  is  a  miracle  of  genius,  because  he  is  a  miracle  of 
labor;  because,  instead  of  trusting  to  the  resources  of  his 
own  single  mind,  he  has  ransacked  a  thousand  minds; 
because  he  makes  use  of  the  accumulated  wisdom  of  ages, 
and  takes,  as  his  point  of  departure,  the  very  last  line  and 
boundary  to  which  science  has  advanced ;  because  it  has 
ever  been  the  object  of  his  life  to  assist  every  intellectual 
gift  of  nature,  however  munificent,  and  however  splendid, 
with  every  resource  that  art  could  suggest,  and  every  atten- 
tion diligence  could  bestow. 

But,  while  I  am  descanting  upon  the  conduct  of  the 
understanding,  and  the  best  mode  of  acquiring  knowledge, 
some  men  may  be  disposed  to  ask,  "  Why  conduct  my 
imderstanding  with  such  endless  care?  and  what  is  the  use 
of  so  much  knowledge?''  What  is  the  use  of  so  much 
knowledge?  What  is  the  use  of  so  much  life?  What  are 
we  to  do  with  the  seventy  years  of  existence  allotted  to  us? 
and  how  are  we  to  live  them  out  to  the  last? 

I  solemnly  declare  that,  but  for  the  love  of  knowledge,  I 
should  consider  the  life  of  the  meanest  hedger  and  ditchei 
as  preferable   to  that  of  the  greatest  and    richest    man  in 


ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS.  415 

existence  ;  for  the  fire  of  our  minds  is  like  the  fire  which  the 
Persians  burn  on  the  mountains :  it  flames  night  and  day, 
and  is  immortal,  and  not  to  be  quenched  !  Upon  something 
it  must  act  and  feed  —  upon  the  pure  spirit  of  knowledge, 
or  upon  the  foul  dregs  of  polluting  passions. 

Therefore,  when  I  say,  in  conducting  your  understanding, 
love  knowledge  with  a  great  love,  with  a  vehement  love, 
with  a  love  coeval  with  life,  what  do  I  say  but  love  inno- 
cence, love  virtue,  love  purity  of  conduct,  love  that  which, 
if  you  are  rich  and  great,  will  vindicate  the  blind  fortune 
which  has  made  you  so,  and  make  men  call  it  justice ;  love 
that  which,  if  you  are  poor,  will  render  your  poverty  respec- 
table, and  make  the  proudest  feel  it  unjust  to  laugh  at  the 
meanness  of  your  fortunes  ;  love  that  which  will  comfort 
you,  adorn  you,  and  never  quit  you,  —  which  will  open  to 
you  the  kingdom  of  thought,  and  all  the  boundless  regions 
of  conception,  as  an  asylum  against  the  cruelty,  the  injus- 
tice, and  the  pain  that  may  be  your  lot  in  the  outer  world, — 
that  which  will  make  your  motives  habitually  great  and 
honorable,  and  light  up  in  an  instant  a  thousand  noble  dis- 
dains at  the  very  thought  of  meanness  and  of  fraud. 

Therefore,  if  any  young  man  has  embarked  his  life  in 
pursuit  of  knowledge,  let  him  go  on  without  doubting  or 
fearing  the  event;  let  him  not  be  intimidated  by  the  cheer- 
less beginnings  of  knowledge,  by  the  darkness  from  which 
she  springs,  by  the  difficulties  which  hover  around  her,  by 
^the  wretched  habitations  in  which  she  dwells,  by  the  want 
and  sorrow  which  sometimes  journey  in  her  train  ;  but  let 
him  ever  follow  her  as  the  Angel  that  guards  him,  and  as 
the  Genius  of  his  life.  She  will  bring  him  out  at  last  into 
the  light  of  day,  and  exhibit  him  to  the  world  comprehen- 
sive in  acquirements,  fertile  in  resources,  rich  in  imagina- 
tion, strong  in  reasoning,  prudent  and  powerful  above  his 
fellows  in  all  the  relations  and  in  all  the  offices  of  life. 

Sydney  Smith. 


416  ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS. 


THE  FACE  AGAINST  THE  PANE. 

Mabel,  little  Mabel, 

With  her  face  against  the  pane, 

Looks  out  across  the  night 

And  sees  the  beacon-light 

A-trembling  in  the  rain. 

She  hears  the  sea-bird  screech, 

And  the  breakers  on  the  beach 

Making  moan,  making  moan ; 

And  the  wind  about  the  eaves 

Of  the  cottage  sobs  and  grieves,  — 

And  the  w^illow-tree  is  blow^n 

To  and  fro,  to  and  fro. 

Till  it  seems  like  some  old  crone 

Standing  out  there  all  alone  with  her  woe, 

Wringing,  as  she  stands, 

Her  gaunt  and  palsied  hands ; 

While  Mabll,  timid  Mabel, 

iVith  her  face  against  the  pane 

Looks  out  across  the  night 

And  sees  the  beacon-light 

A-trembling  in  the  rain. 

Set  the  table,  maiden  Mabel, 

And  make  the  cabin  warm ; 

Your  little  fisher  lover 

Is  out  there  in  the  storm ; 

And  your  father  —  You  are  weeping. 

O  Mabel,  timid  Mabel, 

Go  spread  the  supper-table, 

And  set  the  tea  a-steeping ; 

Your  lover's  heart  is  brave, 

His  boat  is  stanch  and  tight. 

And  your  father  knows 


ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS.  417 

The  perilous  reef 
That  makes  the  water  white. 
But  Mabel,  Mabel  darling, 
With  her  face  against  the  pane, 
Looks  out  across  the  night 
At  the  beacon  in  the  rain. 

» 
The  heavens  are  veined  with  fire! 
And  the  thunder,  how  it  rolls  ! 
In  the  hillings  of  the  storm 
The  solemn  church-bell  tolls 

For  lost  souls  ; 
But  no  sexton  sounds  the  knell ; 
In  that  belfry,  old  and  high, 
Unseen  fingers  sway  the  bell, 
As  the  wind  goes  tearing  by ! 
How  it  tolls  for  the  souls 
Of  the  sailors  on  the  sea  ! 
God  pity  them  !  God  pity  them  I 
Wherever  they  may  be. 
God  pity  wives  and  sweethearts 
Who  wait  and  wait  in  vain, 
And  pity  little  Mabel, 
With  her  face  against  the  panel 

A  boom  !  the  light-house  gun  ; 
How  its  echo  rolls  and  rolls ! 
'Tis  to  warn  home-bound  ships 

Off'  the  shoals. 
See,  a  rocket  cleaves  the  sky  — 
From  the  fort,  a  shaft  of  light ! 
See,  it  fades,  and  fading  leaves 
Golden  furrows  on  the  night ! 
What  makes  Mabel's  cheek  so  pale  ? 
What  makes  Mabel's  lips  so  white  .^ 
Did  she  see  the  helpless  sail 

27 


il8  ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS. 

That,  tossing  here  and  there 
Like  a  feather  in  the  air, 
Went  down  and  out  of  sight, 
Down,  down,  and  out  of  sight? 
Oh,  watch  no  more,  no  more, 
With  face  against  the  pane  ; 
You  cannot  see  the  men  that  drown, 
By  the  beacon  in  the  rain ! 

From  a  shoal  of  richest  rubies 
Breaks  the  morning  clear  and  cold, 
And  the  angel  on  the  village  spire. 
Frost-touched,  is  bright  as  gold. 
Four  ancient  fishermen. 
In  the  pleasant  autumn  air. 
Come  toiling  up  the  sands. 
With  something  in  their  hands  ^ 
Two  bodies  stark  and  white, 
Ah  !  so  ghastly  in  the  light. 
With  sea-weed  in  their  hair 

Oh,  ancient  fishermen, 
Go  up  to  yonder  cot ! 
YouMl  find  a  little  child 
With  face  against  the  pane, 
Who  looks  towards  the  beach, 
And  looking  sees  it  not. 
She  will  never  watch  again, 
Never  watch  and  wake  at  night; 
For  those  pretty,  saintly  eyes 
Look  beyond  the  stormy  skies. 
And  they  see  the  beacon-light. 

T.  iJ.  Aldrich. 


ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATiONS.  419 


LA  YING    THE   CORNER-STONE   OF  BUNKER  HILL 

MONUMENT 

The  foundation  of  a  monument  to  the  memory  of  the  early 
friends  of  American  independence  we  have  now  hxid.  With 
solemnities  suited  to  the  occasion,  with  prayers  to  Ahnighty 
God  for  his  blessing,  and  in  the  midst  of  this  cloud  of  wit- 
nesses, we  have  begun  the  work.  We  trust  it  will  be  prose- 
cuted, and  that,  springing  from  a  broad  foundation,  rising 
high  in  massive  solidity  and  unadorned  grandeur,  it  may 
remain  as  long  as  Heaven  permits  the  works  of  man  to  last, 
a  fit  emblem  both  of  the  events  in  memory  of  which  it  is 
raised,  and  of  the  gratitude  of  those  who  have  raised  it.  We 
know,  indeed,  that  the  record  of  illustrious  actions  is  most 
safely  deposited  in  the  universal  remembrance  of  mankind. 
We  know  that  if  we  could  cause  this  structure  to  ascend, 
not  only  till  it  reached  the  skies,  but  till  it  pierced  them,  its 
broad  surfaces  could  still  contain  but  part  of  that  which,  in 
an  age  of  knowledge,  hath  already  been  spread  over  the 
earth,  and  which  history  charges  itself  with  making  known 
to  all  future  times. 

We  know  that  no  inscriptions  on  entablatures  less  broad 
than  the  earth  itself  can  carry  information  of  the  events  we 
commemorate  where  it  has  not  already  gone,  and  that  no 
structure  which  shall  not  outlive  the  duration  of  fetters  and 
knowledge  among  men  can  prolong  the  memorial.  But  our 
object  is,  by  this  edifice,  to  show  our  deep  sense  of  the  value 
and  importance  of  the  achievements  of  our  ancestors;  and, 
by  presenting  this  work  of  gratitude  to  the  eye,  to  keep  alive 
similar  sentiments,  and  to  foster  a  constant  regard  for  the 
principles  of  the  Revolution. 

Human  beings  are  composed,  not  of  reason  only,  but  of 
imagination  also,  and  sentiment;  and  that  is  neither  wasted 
nor  misapplied  which  is  appropriated  to  giving  right  direc- 
tion to  sentiments,  and  opening  proper  springs  of  feeling  in 


420  ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS. 

the  heart.  Let  it  not  be  supposed  that  our  object  is  to 
perpetuate  national  hostiUty,  or  even  to  cherish  a  mere  mih- 
tary  spirit.     It  is  higher,  purer,  nobler. 

We  consecrate  our  work  to  the  spirit  of  national  indepen- 
dence, and  we  wish  that  the  light  of  peace  may  rest  upon  it 
forever.  We  rear  a  memorial  of  our  conviction  of  that  un- 
measured benefit  which  has  been  conferred  on  our  own  land, 
and  of  the  happy  influences  which  have  been  produced,  by 
the  same  events,  on  the  general  interests  of  mankind. 

We  come,  as  Americans,  to  mark  a  spot  which  must  for- 
ever be  dear  to  us  and  our  posterity.  We  wish  that  whoso- 
ever, in  all  coming  time,  shall  turn  his  eye  hither,  may  behold 
that  the  place  is  not  undistinguished  where  the  first  great  bat- 
tle of  the  Revolution  was  fought.  We  wish  that  this  structure 
may  proclaim  the  magnitude  and  importance  of  that  event  to 
every  class  and  every  age.  We  wish  that  infancy  may  learn 
the  purpose  of  its  erection,  from  maternal  lips,  and  that  weary 
and  withered  age  may  behold  it,  and  be  solaced  by  the  recol- 
lections which  it  suggests. 

We  wish  that  labor  may  look  up  here  and  be  proud  in  the 
midst  of  its  toil.  We  wish  that,  in  those  days  of  disaster, 
which,  as  they  come  upon  all  nations,  must  be  expected  to 
come  upon  us  also,  desponding  patriotism  may  turn  its  eyes 
hitherward,  and  be  assured  that  the  foundations  of  our  na- 
tional power  are  still  strong. 

We  wish  that  this  column,  rising  towards  heaven  among 
the  pointed  spires  of  so  many  temples  dedicated  to  God,  may 
contribute,  also,  to  produce  in  all  minds  a  pious  feeling  of 
dependence  and  gratitude. 

We  wish,  finally,  that  the  last  object  to  the  sight  of  him 
who  leaves  his  native  shore,  and  the  first  to  gladden  his 
who  revisits  it,  may  be  something  which  shall  remind  him 
of  the  liberty  and  the  glory  of  his  country. 

Let  it  rise  I  let  it  rise,  till  it  meet  the  Sun  in  his  coming; 

let  the  earliest  light  of  the  morning  gild  it,  and  parting  day 

linger  and  play  on  its  summit. 

Webster. 


ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS.  421 


THE  BURIAL   OF  MOSES, 

By  Nebo's  lonely  mountain, 

On  this  side  Jordan's  wave, 
In  a  vale  in  the  hind  of  Moab, 

There  lies  a  lonely  grave ; 
But  no  man  dug  that  sepulchre, 

And  no  man  saw  it  e'er. 
For  the  angels  of  God  upturned  the  sod, 

And  laid  the  dead  man  there. 

That  was  the  grandest  funeral 

That  ever  passed  on  earth  ; 
But  no  man  heard  the  tramping, 

Or  saw  the  train  go  forth. 
Noiselessly  as  the  daylight 

Comes  when  the  night  is  done, 
And  the  crimson  streak  on  ocean's  cheek 

Grows  into  the  great  sun, — 

Noiselessly  as  the  spring-time 

Her  crown  of  verdure  weaves, 
And  all  the  trees  on  all  the  hills 

Open  their  thousand  leaves, 
So,  without  sound  of  music, 

Or  voice  of  them  that  wept. 
Silently  down  from  the  mountain-crown 

The  great  procession  swept. 

Perchance  the  bald  old  eagle. 

On  gray  Bethpeor's  height, 
Out  of  his  rocky  eyrie. 

Looked  on  the  wondrous  sight. 
Perchance  the  lion,  stalking. 

Still  shuns  the  hallowed  spot; 
For  beast  and  bird  have  seen  and  heard 

That  which  man  knoweth  not. 


422  ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS. 

Lo  !  when  the  warrior  dieth, 

His  comrades  in  the  war, 
With  arms  reversed,  and  muffled  drum, 

Follow  the  funeral  car. 
They  show  the  banners  taken, 

They  tell  his  battles  won, 
And  after  him  lead  his  masterless  steed, 

While  peals  the  minute-gun. 

Amid  the  noblest  of  the  land 

Men  lay  the  sage  to  rest, 
And  give  the  bard  an  honored  place, 

With  costly  marble  dressed. 
In  the  great  minster  transept, 

Where  lights  like  glories  fall. 
And  the  choir  sings,  and  the  organ  rings 

Along  the  emblazoned  wall. 

This  was  the  bravest  w^arrior 

That  ever  buckled  sword  ; 
This  the  most  gifted  poet 

That  ever  breathed  a  word  ; 
And  never  eartii's  philosopher 

Traced,  with  his  golden  pen. 
On  the  deathless  page,  truths  half  so  sage 

As  he  wrote  down  for  men. 

And  had  he  not  high  honor? 

The  hill-side  for  his  pall ; 
To  lie  in  state  while  angels  wait, 

With  stars  for  tapers  tall ; 
And  the  dark  rock-pines,  like  tossing  plumes, 

Over  his  bier  to  wave  ; 
And  God's  own  hand,  in  that  lonely  land. 

To  lay  him  in  the  grave,  — 


ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS.  423 

In  that  deep  grave,  without  a  name, 

Whence  his  uncoffined  clay 
Shall  break  again,  —  O  wondrous  thought!  — 

Before  the  judgment-day  ; 
And  stand,  with  glory  wrapped  around, 

On  the  hills  he  never  trod, 
And  speak  of  the  strife  that  won  our  life, 

With  the  incarnate  Son  of  God. 

O  lonely  tomb  in  Moab's  land  ! 

O  dark  Bethpeor's  hill ! 
Speak  to  these  curious  hearts  of  ours, 

And  teach  them  to  be  still. 
God  hath  his  mysteries  of  grace,  — 

Ways  that  we  cannot  tell ; 

He  hides  them  deep,  like  the  secret  sleep 

Of  him  He  loved  so  well. 

C.  F.  Alexander. 


OPENING  SOLILOQUY  OF  RICHARD    THIRD, 

Gloster.     Now  is  the  winter  of  our  discontent 
Made  glorious  summer  by  this  sun  of  York  ; 
And  all  the  clouds,  that  lowered  upon  our  house, 
In  the  deep  bosom  of  the  ocean  buried. 
Now  are  our  brows  bound  with  victorious  wreaths ; 
Our  bruised  arms  hung  up  for  monuments; 
Our  stern  alarums  changed  to  merry  meetings, 
Our  dreadful  marches  to  delightful  measures. 
Grim-visaged  war  hath  smoothed  his  wrinkled  front; 
And  now,  —  instead  of  mounting  barbed  steeds. 
To  fright  the  souls  of  fearful  adversaries,  — 
He  capers  nimbly  in  a  lady's  chamber. 
To  the  lascivious  pleasing  of  a  lute. 
But  I,  —  that  am  not  shaped  for  sportive  tricks, 
Nor  made  to  court  an  amorous  looking-glass ; 


424  ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS. 

I,  that  am  rudely  stamped,  and  want  love's  majesty, 
To  strut  before  a  wanton  ambling  nymph ; 
I,  that  am  curtaiPd  of  this  fair  proportion, 
Cheated  of  feature  by  dissembling  nature, 
Deformed,  unfinish'd,  sent  before  my  time 
Into  this  breathing  world,  scarce  half  made  up, 
And  that  so  lamely  and  unfashionable. 
That  dogs  bark  at  me,  as  I  halt  by  them ;  — 
Why  I,  in  this  weak  piping  time  of  peace. 
Have  no  delight  to  pass  away  the  time ; 
Unless  to  spy  my  shadow  in  the  sun. 
And  descant  on  mine  own  deformity : 
And  therefore  —  since  I  cannot  prove  a  lover, 
To  entertain  these  fair  well-spoken  days  — 
I  am  determined  to  prove  a  villain. 
And  hate  the  idle  pleasures  of  these  days. 
Plots  have  I  laid,  inductions  dangerous, 
By  drunken  prophecies,  libels,  and  dreams. 
To  set  my  brother  Clarence  and  the  king 
In  deadly  hate,  the  one  against  the  other : 
And  if  King  Edward  be  as  true  and  just 
As  I  am  subtle,  false,  and  treacherous. 
This  day  should  Clarence  closely  be  mew'd  up ; 
About  a  prophecy,  which  says  —  that  G 
Of  Edward's  heirs  the  murderer  shall  be. 
Dive,  thoughts,  down  to  my  soul !  here  Clarence  comes. 

Shakespeare. 


DRIVING  HOME   THE  COWS. 

Out  of  the  clover  and  blue-eyed  grass, 
He  turned  them  into  the  river-lane ; 

One  after  another  he  let  them  pass. 
Then  fastened  the  meadow  bars  again. 


ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS.  425 

Under  the  willows  and  over  the  hill, 
He  patiently  followed  their  sober  pace ; 

The  merry  whistle  for  once  was  still, 

And  something  shadowed  the  sunny  face. 

Only  a  boy  !  and  his  father  had  said, 

He  never  could  let  his  youngest  go ; 
Two  already  were  lying  dead 

Under  the  feet  of  the  trampling  foe. 

But  after  the  evening  work  was  done, 

And  the  frogs  were  loud  in  the  meadow-swamp, 

Over  his  shoulder  he  slung  his  gun. 

And  stealthily  followed  the  footpath  damp,  — 

Across  the  clover  and  through  the  wheat, 

With  resolute  heart  and  purpose  grim. 
Though  cold  was  the  dew  on  his  hurrying  feet 

And  the  blind  bats  flitting  startled  him. 

Thrice  since  then  had  the  lanes  been  white, 
And  the  orchards  sweet  with  apple-bloom  ; 

And  now,  when  the  cows  came  back  at  night. 
The  feeble  father  drove  them  home. 

For  news  had  come  to  the  lonely  farm 

That  three  were  lying  where  two  had  lain ; 

And  the  old  man's  tremulous,  palsied  arm 
Could  never  lean  on  a  son's  again. 

The  summer  day  grew  cool  and  late  ; 

He  went  for  the  cows  when  the  work  was  done ; 
But  down  the  lane,  as  he  opened  the  gate, 

He  saw  them  coming  one  by  one, — 

Brindle,  Ebony,  Speckle,  and  Bess, 

Shaking  their  horns  in  the  evening  wind. 

Cropping  the  buttercups  out  of  the  grass  — 
But  who  was  it  following  close  behind? 


426  ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS. 

Loosely  swang  in  the  idle  air 

The  empty  sleeve  of  army  blue  ; 
And  worn  and  pale,  from  the  crisping  hair, 

Looked  out  a  face  that  the  father  knew ;  — 

For  Southern  prisons  will  sometimes  yawn, 

And  yield  their  dead  unto  life  again  ; 
And  the  day  that  comes  with  a  cloudy  dawn 

In  golden  glory  at  last  may  wane. 

The  great  tears  sprang  to  their  meeting  eyes ; 

For  the  heart  must  speak  when  the  lips  are  dumb. 
And  under  the  silent  evening  skies 

Together  they  followed  the  cattle  home. 

Kate  Putnam  Osgood. 


''BAV  BILLYr 


'TwAS  the  last  fight  at  Fredericksburg  — 

Perhaps  the  day  you  reck, 
Our  boys,  the  Twenty-second  Maine, 

Kept  Early's  men  in  check  ; 
Just  where  Wade  Hampton  boomed  away 

The  fight  went  neck  and  neck. 

All  day  we  held  the  weaker  wing. 

And  held  it  with  a  will ; 
Five  several  stubborn  times  we  charged 

The  battery  on  the  hill, 
And  five  times  beaten  back,  re-formed. 

And  kept  our  columns  still. 

At  last  from  out  the  centre  fight 

Spurred  up  a  General's  Aid. 
''  That  battery  must  silenced  be  !  " 

He  cried,  as  past  he  sped. 
Our  Colonel  simply  touched  his  cap. 

And  then,  with  measured  tread, 


ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS.  427 

To  lead  the  crouching  line  once  more 

The  grand  old  fellow  came. 
No  wounded  man  but  raised  his  head 

And  strove  to  gasp  his  name, 
And  those  who  could  not  speak  nor  stir, 

"  God  blessed  him  "  just  the  same. 

For  he  was  all  the  world  to  us, 

That  hero  gray  and  grim  ; 
Right  well  he  knew  that  fearful  slope 

We'd  climb  with  none  but  him. 
Though  while  his  white  head  led  the  way 

We'd  charge  hell's  portals  in. 

This  time  we  were  not  half-way  up, 

When,  'midst  the  storm  of  shell, 
Our  leader^  with  his  sword  upraised, 

Beneath  our  bay 'nets  fell. 
And,  as  we  bore  him  back,  the  foe 

Set  up  a  joyous  yell. 

Our  hearts  went  with  him.     Back  we  swept, 

And  when  the  bugle  said 
*'  Up,  charge  again  !  "  no  man  was  there 

But  hung  his  dogged  head. 
"  We've  no  one  left  to  lead  us  now  " 

The  sullen  soldiers  said. 

[ust  then,  before  the  laggard  line, 

The  Colonel's  horse  we  spied  — 
Bay  Billy,  with  his  trappings  on, 

His  nostril  swelling  wide. 
As  though  still  on  his  gallant  back 

The  master  sat  astride. 

Right  royally  he  took  the  place 

That  was  of  old  his  wont. 
And  with  a  neigh,  that  seemed  to  say 


428  ADVANCED    READINGS   AND    RECITATIONS. 

Above  the  battle's  brunt, 
"  How  can  the  Twenty-second  charge 
If  I  am  not  in  front  ?  " 

Like  statues  we  stood  rooted  there, 

And  gazed  a  little  space  ; 
Above  that  floating  mane  we  missed 

The  dear  familiar  face  ; 
But  we  saw  Bay  Billy's  eye  of  fire, 

And  it  gave  us  heart  of  grace. 

No  bugle-call  could  rouse  us  all 

As  that  brave  sight  had  done ; 
Down  all  the  battered  line  we  felt 

A  lightning  impulse  run  ; 
Up,  up  the  hill  we  followed  Bill, 

And  captured  every  gun  ! 

And  when  upon  the  conquered  height 

Died  out  the  battle's  hum,  \ 

Vainly  'mid  living  and  the  dead 
We  sought  our  leader  dumb  ; 

It  seemed  as  if  a  spectre  steed 
To  win  that  day  had  come. 

At  last  the  morning  broke.     The  lark 

Sang  in  the  merry  skies 
As  if  to  e'en  the  sleepers  there 

It  bade  awake,  and  rise  !  ■ 

Though  naught  but  that  last  trump  of  all 

Could  ope  their  heavy  eyes. 

And  then  once  more,  with  banners  gay, 

Stretched  out  the  long  brigade  ; 
Trimly  upon  the  furrowed  field 

The  troops  stood  on  parade, 
And  bravely  'mid  the  ranks  were  closed 

The  gaps  the  fight  had  made. 


ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS.  429 

Not  half  the  Twenty-second's  men 

Were  in  their  place  that  morn, 
And  Corp'ral  Dick,  who  yester-noon 

Stood  six  brave  fellows  on, 
Now  touched  my  elbow  in  the  ranks, 

For  all  between  were  gone. 

Ah  !  who  forgets  that  dreary  hour 

When,  as  with  misty  eyes. 
To  call  the  old  familiar  roll 

The  solemn  Sergeant  tries  — 
One  feels  that  thumping  of  the  heart 

As  no  prompt  voice  replies. 

And  as  in  falt'ring  tone  and  slow 

The  last  few  names  were  said. 
Across  the  fields  some  missing  horse 

Toiled  up  with  weary  tread. 
It  caught  the  Sergeant's  eye,  and  quick 

Bay  Billy's  name  was  read. 

Yes !  there  the  old  bay  hero  stood, 

All  safe  from  battle's  harms. 
And  ere  an  order  could  be  heard, 

Or  the  bugle's  quick  alarms, 
Down  all  the  front,  from  end  to  end, 

The  troops  presented  arms ! 

Not  all  the  shoulder-straps  on  earth 

Could  still  our  mighty^  cheer. 
And  ever  from  that  famous  day, 

When  rang  the  roll-call  clear. 
Bay  Billy's  name  was  read,  and  then 

The  whole  line  answered  "  Here  !  " 

Frank  H.  Gassawatt. 


430  ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS. 


TRIBUTE    TO  LINCOLN. 

The  Puritans  are  the  patriarchs  of  liberty ;  they  opened 
a  new  world  on  the  earth  ;  they  opened  a  new  path  for  the 
human  conscience  ;  they  created  a  new  society.  Yet,  when 
England  tried  to  subdue  them  and  they  conquered,  the 
republic  triumphed  and  Slavery  remained.  Washington 
could  only  emancipate  his  slaves.  Franklin  said  that  the 
Virginians  could  not  invoke  the  name  of  God,  retaining 
Slavery.  Jay  said  that  all  the  prayers  America  sent  up  to 
Heaven  for  the  preservation  of  liberty  while  slavery  con- 
tinued, were  mere  blasphemies.  Mason  mourned  over  the 
payment  his  descendants  must  make  for  this  great  crime  of 
their  fathers.  Jefferson  traced  the  line  where  the  black  wave 
of  Slavery  should  be  stayed. 

Nevertheless,  Slavery  increased  continually.  I  beg  that 
you  will  pause  a  moment  to  consider  the  man  who  cleansed 
this  terrible  stain  which  obscured  the  stars  of  the  American 
banner.  I  beg  that  you  will  pause  a  moment,  for  his  im- 
mortal name  has  been  invoked  for  the  perpetuation  of 
Slavery.  Ah  !  the  past  century  has  not,  the  century  to  come 
will  not  have,  a  figure  so  grand,  because  as  evil  disappears 
so  disappears  heroism  also. 

I  have  often  contemplated  and  described  his  life.  Born  in 
a  cabin  of  Kentucky,  of  parents  who  could  hardly  read  ;  born 
a  new  Moses  in  the  solitude  of  the  desert,  where  are  forged 
all  great  and  obstinate  thoughts,  monotonous  like  the  desert, 
and,  like  the  desert,  sublime ;  growing  up  among  those 
primeval  forests,  which,  with  their  fragrance,  send  a  cloud 
of  incense,  and,  with  their  murmurs,  a  cloud  of  prayers  to 
heaven  ;  a  boatman  at  eight  years  in  the  impetuous  current 
of  the  Ohio,  and  at  seventeen  in  the  vast  and  tranquil 
waters  of  the  Mississippi  ;  later,  a  woodman,  with  axe  and 
arm  felling  the  immemorial  trees,  to  open  a  way  to  unex- 
plored regions  for  his  tribe  of  wandering  workers;   reading 


ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS.  431 

no  other  book  than  the  Bible,  the  book  of  great  sorrows  and 
great  hopes,  dictated  often  by  prophets  to  the  sound  of  fetters 
they  dragged  through  Nineveh  and  Babylon  ;  a  child  of 
Nature,  in  a  word,  by  one  of  those  miracles  only  compre- 
hensible among  free  peoples,  he  fought  for  the  country,  and 
was  raised  by  his  fellow-citizens  to  the  Congress  at  Wash- 
ington, and  by  the  nation  to  the  Presidency  of  the  Republic  ; 
and  when  the  evil  grew  more  virulent,  when  those  States 
were  dissolved,  when  the  slaveholders  uttered  their  war  cry 
and  the  slaves  their  groans  of  despair — the  wood-cutter,  tlie 
boatman,  the  son  of  the  great  West,  the  descendant  of 
Qiiakers,  humblest  of  the  humble  before  his  conscience, 
greatest  of  the  great  before  history,  ascends  the  Capitol,  the 
greatest  moral  height  of  our  time,  and  strong  and  serene  with 
his  conscience  and  his  thought ;  before  him  a  veteran  army, 
hostile  Europe  behind  him,  England  favoring  the  South, 
France  encouraging  reaction  in  Mexico,  in  his  hands  the 
riven  country;  he  arms  two  millions  of  men,  gathers  a  half 
million  of  horses,  sends  his  artillery  1200  miles  in  a  week, 
from  the  banks  of  the  Potomac  to  the  shores  of  Tennessee; 
fights  more  than  six  hundred  battles  ;  renews  before  Rich- 
mond the  deeds  of  Alexander,  of  Coesar  ;  and,  after  having 
emancipated  3,000,000  slaves,  that  nothing  might  be  wanting, 
he  dies  in  the  very  moment  of  victory  —  like  Christ,  like 
Socrates,  like  all  redeemers,  at  the  foot  of  his  work.  His 
work!  Sublime  achievement!  over  which  humanity  shall 
eternally  shed  its  tears,  and  God  his  benedictions  ! 

Emilio  Castelar. 


INDEPENDENCE  BELL  —  JULY\,    1 776. 

There  was  a  tumult  in  the  city. 
In  the  quaint  old  Qiaaker  town, 

And  the  streets  were  rife  with  people 
Pacing  restless  up  and  down ; 


432  ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS. 

People  gathering  at  corners, 

Where  they  whispered  each  to  each, 

And  the  sweat  stood  on  their  temples, 
With  the  earnestness  of  speech. 

As  the  bleak  Atlantic  currents 

Lash  the  wild  Newfoundland  shore, 
So  they  beat  against  the  State  House, 

So  they  surged  against  the  door; 
And  the  mingling  of  their  voices 

Made  a  harmony  profound. 
Till  the  quiet  street  of  chestnuts 

Was  all  turbulent  with  sound. 

"  Will  they  do  it?  "     "  Dare  they  do  it?  " 

"  Who  is  speaking?  "     ''  What's  the  news?" 
"  What  of  Adams?  "     ''  What  of  Sherman?  " 

"  Oh,  God  grant  they  won't  refuse  !  " 
'^  Make  some  way,  there  !  "     "  Let  me  nearer  !  '* 

"  I  am  stifling  !  "     ''  Stifle,  then  ; 
When  a  nation's  life's  at  hazard 

We've  no  time  to  think  of  men  !  " 

So  they  beat  against  the  portal  — 

Man  and  woman,  maid  and  child  ; 
And  the  July  sun  in  heaven 

On  the  scene  looked  down  and  smiled ; 
The  same  sun  that  saw  the  Spartan 

Shed  his  patriot  blood  in  vain. 
Now  beheld  the  soul  of  freedom 

All  unconquered  rise  again. 

Aloft  in  that  high  steeple 

Sat  the  bellman,  old  and  gray ; 
He  was  weary  of  the  tyrant, 

And  his  iron-sceptred  sway  ; 


ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS.  433 

So  he  sat  with  one  hand  ready 

On  the  clapper  of  the  bell, 
When  his  eye  should  catch  the  signal, 

Very  happy  news  to  tell. 

See  !  see  !  the  dense  crowd  quivers 

Through  all  its  lengthy  line, 
As  the  boy  beside  the  portal 

Looks  forth  to  give  the  sign  ! 
With  his  small  hands  upward  lifted, 

Breezes  dallying  with  his  hair, 
Hark!  with  deep,  clear  intonation. 

Breaks  his  young  voice  on  the  air. 

Hushed  the  people's  swelling  murmur, 

List  the  boy's  strong  joyous  cry  ! 
"  Ring  !  "  he  shouts  aloud  ;  "  Ring  !   Grandpa  ! 

Ring  !  Oh,  ring  for  Liberty  !  " 
And  straightway,  at  the  signal. 

The  old  bellman  lifts  his  hand. 
And  sends  the  good  news,  making 

Iron  music  through  the  land. 

How  they  shouted  !     What  rejoicing  ! 

How  the  old  bell  shook  the  air. 
Till  the  clang  of  freedom  ruffled 

The  calm-gliding  Delaware  ! 
How  the  bonfires  and  the  torches 

Illumed  the  night's  repose, 
And  from  the  flames,  like  PhcEnix, 

Fair  Liberty  arose ! 

That  old  bell  now  is  silent. 

And  hushed  its  iron  tongue, 
But  the  spirit  it  awakened 

Still  lives  —  forever  young. 

28 


434  ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS. 

And  while  we  greet  the  sunHght 
On  the  Fourth  of  each  July, 

We'll  ne'er  forget  the  bellman, 
Who,  'twixt  the  earth  and  sky, 

Rung  out  our  Independence  ! 

Which,  please  God,  shall  never  die! 


BINGEN  ON  THE  RHINE. 

A  SOLDIER  of  the  Legion  lay  dying  in  Algiers, 

There  was  lack  of  woman's  nursing,  there  was   dearth   of 

woman's  tears  ; 
But  a  comrade  stood  beside  him,  while  his  life-blood  ebb'd 

away. 
And  bent,  with  pitying  glances,  to  hear  what  he  might  say. 
The  dying  soldier  falter'd  as  he  took  that  comrade's  hand. 
And  he  said,  ''  I  never  more  shall  see  my  own,  my  native 

land  ; 
Take  a   message,  and    a  token,  to  some  distant  friends  of 

mine. 
For  I  was  born  at  Bingen  —  at  Bingen  on  the  Rhine. 

"  Tell  my  brothers  and  companions,  when  they  meet  and 
crowd  around 

To  hear  my  mournful  story  in  the  pleasant  vineyard  ground, 

That  we  fought  the  battle  bravely,  and  when  the  day  was 
done, 

Full  many  a  corse  lay  ghastly  pale,  beneath  the  setting  suil. 

And  'midst  the  dead  and  dying,  were  some  grown  old  in  wars, 

The  death-wound  on  their  gallant  breasts,  the  last  of  many 
scars : 

But  some  were  young  —  and  suddenly  beheld  life's  morn  de- 
cline, 

And  one  had  come  from  Bingen  — fair  Bingen  on  the  Rhine  I 


ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS.  435 

"  Tell  my  mother  that  her  other  sons  shall  comfort  her  old 

age, 
And  I  was  aye  a  truant  bird,  that  thought  his  home  a  cage : 
For  my  father  was  a  soldier,  and  even  as  a  child 
My  heart   leap'd   forth  to  hear  him   tell   of  struggles  fierce 

and  wild  ; 
And  when  he  died,  and  left  us  to  divide  his  scanty  hoard, 
I  let  them  take  whate'er  they  would,  but  kept  my  father's 

sword. 
And  with  boyish  love  I  hung  it  where  the  bright  light  used 

to  shine, 
On  the  cottage  wall  at  Bingen  —  calm  Bingen  on  the  Rhine  ! 

''  Tell  my  sister  not  to  weep  for  me,  and  sob  with  drooping 

head, 
When  the  troops  are  marching  home  again,  with  glad  and 

gallant  tread  ; 
But  to  look  upon  them  proudly,  with  a  calm  and  steadfast 

eye, 
For  her  brother  was  a  soldier  too,  and  not  afraid  to  die. 
And  if  a  comrade  seek  her  love,  I  ask  her  in  my  name 
To  listen  to  him  kindly,  without  regret  or  shame  ; 
And  to  hang  the  old  sword  in  its  place,  (my  father's  sword, 

and  mine,) 
For  the  honor  of  old  Bingen  —  dear  Bingen  on  the  Rhine! 

''  There's  another  —  not  a  sister  ;  in  the  happy  days  gone  by, 
You'd  have  known  her  by  the   merriment  that  sparkled  in 

her  eye 
Too  innocent  for  coquetry,  —  too  fond  for  idle  scorning, — 
Oh !    friend,    I    fear    the    lightest    heart     makes    sometimes 

heaviest  mourning ; 
Tell  her  the  last  night  of  m}^  life  (for  ere  the  moon  be  risen 
My  body  will  be  out  of  pain  — my  soul  be  out  of  prison) 
I   dream'd   I  stood    with  her,   and  saw  the  yellow  sunlight 

shine 
On  the  vine-clad  hills  of  Bingen  —  fair  Bingen  on  the  Rhine  ! 


436  ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS. 

"  I  saw  the  Blue  Rhine  sweep  along  —  I  heard,  or  seem'd  to 

hear, 
The  German  songs  we  used  to   sing,  in  chorus  sweet  and 

clear ; 
And  down  the  pleasant  river,  and  up  the  slanting  hill, 
The  echoing  chorus  sounded,  through  the  evening  calm  and 

still  ; 
And  her   glad  blue  eyes   were  on   me   as   we  passed    with 

friendly  talk 
Down  many  a  path  beloved  of  yore,  and  well-remembered 

walk, 
And  her  little  hand  lay  lightly,  confidingly  in  mine: 
But  we'll   meet  no  more  at  Bingen  —  loved  Bingen  on  the 

Rhine !  " 

His  voice  grew  faint,  and  hoarser,  —  his  grasp  was  childish 

weak,  — 
His  eyes   put  on   a   dying  look,  —  he    sigh'd,  and  ceasec^  to 

speak  : 
His  comrade  bent  to  lift  him,  but  the  spark  of  life  had  fled, — 
The  soldier  of  tlie  Legion,  in  a  foreign  land, — was  dead! 
And  the  soft  moon  rose  up  slowly,  and  calmly  she  looked 

down 
On    the   red  sand   of  the    battle-field,   with   l)loody    corpses 

strown  ; 
Yea,  calmly  on  that  dreadful  scene  her  pale  light  seem'd  to 

shine, 
As  it  shone  on  distant  Bingen  —  fair  Bingen  on  the  Rliine  ■ 

Mrs.  Norton. 


SPARTACUS   TO    THE   GLADIATORS. 

It  had  been  a  day  of  triumph  in  Capua.  Lentulus, 
returning  with  victorious  eagles,  had  amused  the  populace 
with  the  sports  of  the  amphitheatre  to  an  extent  hitherto 
unknown  even  in  that  luxurious  city.     The  shouts  of  revelry 


ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS.  437 

had  died  away  ;  the  roar  of  the  lion  had  ceased  ;  the  last 
loiterer  had  retired  from  the  banquet,  and  the  lights  in  the 
palace  of  the  victor  were  extinguished.  The  moon,  piercing 
the  tissue  of  fleecy  clouds,  silvered  the  dewdrop  on  the 
corselet  of  the  Roman  sentinel,  and  tipped  the  dark  waters 
of  Volturnus  with  wavy,  tremulous  light.  It  was  a  night  of 
holy  calm,  when  the  zephyr  sways  the  young  spring  leaves, 
and  whispers  among  the  hollow  reeds  its  dreamy  music. 
No  sound  was  heard  but  the  last  sob  of  some  weary  wave, 
telling  its  story  to  the  smooth  pebbles  of  the  beach,  and  then 
all  was  still  as  the  breast  when  the  spirit  has  departed. 

In  the  deep  recesses  of  the  amphitheatre  a  band  of  glad- 
iators were  crowded  together,  —  their  muscles  still  knotted 
with  the  agony  of  conflict,  the  foam  upon  their  lips,  and  the 
scowl  of  battle  yet  lingering  upon  their  brows,  —  when 
Spartacus,  rising  in  the  midst  of  that  grim  assemblage,  thus 
addressed  them  :  — 

"Ye  call  me  chief,  and  ye  do  well  to  call  him  chief  wlio, 
for  twelve  long  years,  has  met  upon  the  arena  every  shape 
of  man  or  beast  that  the  broad  Empire  of  Rome  could  fur- 
nish, and  yet  never  has  lowered  his  arm.  And  if  there  be 
one  among  you  who  can  say  that,  ever,  in  public  fight  or 
private  brawl,  my  actions  did  belie  my  tongue,  let  him  step 
forth  and  say  it.  If  there  be  three  in  all  your  throng  dare 
face  me  on  the  bloody  sand,  let  them  come  on  ! 

"  Yet,  I  was  not  always  thus,  a  hired  butcher,  a  savage 
chief  of  savage  men.  My  father  was  a  reverent  man,  who 
feared  great  Jupiter,  and  brought  to  the  rural  deities  his 
offerings  of  fruits  and  flowers.  He  dwelt  among  the  vine- 
clad  rocks  and  olive  groves  at  the  foot  of  Helicon.  My 
early  life  ran  quiet  as  the  brook  by  which  I  sported.  I  was 
taught  to  prune  the  vine,  to  tend  the  flock ;  and  then,  at 
noon,  I  gathered  my  sheep  beneath  the  shade,  and  played 
upon  the  shepherd's  flute.  I  had  a  friend,  the  son  of  our 
neighbor  ;  we  led  our  flocks  to  the  same  pasture,  and  shared 
together  our  rustic  meal. 

"  One  evening,  after  the  sheep  were  folded,  and  we  were 


438  ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS. 

all  seated  beneath  the  myrtle  that  shaded  our  cottage,  m}' 
grandsire,  an  old  man,  was  telling  of  Marathon  and  Leuctra, 
and  how,  in  ancient  times,  a  little  band  of  Spartans,  in  a 
defile  of  the  mountains,  withstood  a  whole  army.  I  did  not 
then  know  what  war  meant;  but  my  cheeks  burnedc  I 
knew  not  why  ;  and  I  clasped  the  knees  of  that  venerable 
man,  till  my  mother,  parting  the  hair  from  off  my  brow, 
kissed  my  throbbing  temples,  and  bade  me  go  to  rest,  and 
think  no  more  of  those  old  tales  and  savage  wars. 

"  That  very  night  the  Romans  landed  on  our  shore,  and 
the  clash  of  steel  was  heard  within  our  quiet  vale.  I  saw 
the  breast  that  had  nourished  me  trampled  by  the  iron 
hoof  of  the  war-horse ;  the  bleeding  body  of  my  father 
flung  amid  the  blazing  rafters  of  our  dwelling.  To-day 
I  killed  a  man  in  the  arena,  and  when  I  broke  his  helmet 
clasps,  behold  !  he  was  my  friend  !  He  knew  me,  —  smiled 
faintly, —  gasped,  —  and  died;  the  same  sweet  smile  that 
I  had  marked  upon  his  face  when,  in  adventurous  boyhood, 
we  scaled  some  lofty  cliff  to  pluck  the  first  ripe  grapes, 
and  bear  them  home  in  childish  triumph.  I  told  the  praetor 
he  was  my  friend,  noble  and  brave,  and  I  begged  his  body, 
that  I  might  burn  it  upon  the  funeral-pile,  and  mourn  over 
him.  Ay,  on  my  knees,  amid  the  dust  and  blood  of  the 
arena,  I  begged  that  boon,  while  all  the  Roman  maids  and 
matrons,  and  those  holy  virgins  they  call  vestals,  and  the 
rabble,  shouted  in  mockery,  deeming  it  rare  sport,  forsoot'n, 
to  see  Rome's  fiercest  gladiator  turn  pale,  and  tremble  like  a 
very  child  before  that  piece  of  bleeding  clay  ;  but  the  prastor 
drew  back  as  if  I  were  pollution,  and  sternly  said,  '  Let  the 
carrion  rot !  There  are  no  noble  men  but  Romans  ! '  And 
he,  deprived  of  funeral  rites,  must  wander,  a  hapless  ghost, 
beside  the  waters  of  that  sluggish  river,  and  look  —  and 
look  —  and  look  in  vain  to  the  bright  Elysian  Fields  where 
dwell  his  ancestors  and  noble  kindred.  And  so  must  you, 
and  so  must  I,  die  like  dogs  ! 

''  O  Rome  !   Rome  I   thou  hast  been  a  tender  nurse  to  me  ! 
Ay,  thou  hast  given  to  that  poor,  gentle,  timid  shepherd-lad^ 


ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS.  439 

who  never  knew  a  harsher  sound  than  a  flute-note,  muscles 
of  iron  and  a  heart  of  flint;  taught  him  to  drive  the  sword 
through  rugged  brass  and  plaited  mail,  and  warm  it  in  the 
marrow  of  his  foe  !  to  gaze  into  the  glaring  eyeballs  of  the 
fierce  Numidian  lion,  even  as  a  smooth-cheeked  boy  upon  a 
laughing  girl.  And  he  shall  pay  thee  back  till  thy  yellow 
Tiber  is  red  as  frothing  wine,  and  in  its  deepest  ooze  thy 
life-blood  lies  curdled  ! 

'^  Ye  stand  here  now  like  giants,  as  ye  are  !  the  strength 
of  brass  in  your  toughened  sinews ;  but  to-morrow  some 
Roman  Adonis,  breathing  sweet  odors  from  his  curly  locks, 
shall  come,  and  with  his  lily  fingers  pat  your  brawny 
shoulders,  and  bet  his  sesterces  upon  your  blood  !  Hark ! 
Hear  ye  yon  lion  roaring  in  his  den?  'Tis  three  days  since 
he  tasted  meat;  but  to-morrow  he  shall  break  his  fast  upon 
your  flesh  ;  and  ye  shall  be  a  dainty  meal  for  him. 

"  If  ye  are  brutes,  then  stand  here  like  fat  oxen  waiting 
for  the  butcher's  knife  ;  if  ye  are  men,  follow  me  !  strike 
down  yon  sentinel,  and  gain  the  mountain-passes,  and  there 
do  bloody  work  as  did  your  sires  at  old  Thermopylae  !  Is 
Sparta  dead.''  Is  the  old  Grecian  spirit  frozen  in  your  veins, 
that  ye  do  crouch  and  cower  like  base-born  slaves  beneath 
your  master's  lash?  O  comrades!  warriors!  Thracians  ! 
if  we  must  fight,  let  us  fight  for  ourselves  ;  if  we  must 
slaughter,  let  us  slaughter  our  oppressors  ;  if  we  must  die, 
let  us  die  under  the  open  sky,  by  the  bright  waters,  in  noble, 
honorable  battle."  Kellogg. 


THE    VAGABONDS, 


We  are  two  travellers,  Roger  and  I. 

Roger's  my  dog  :  —  come  here,  you  scamp  ! 
Jump  for  the  gentlemen,  —  mind  your  eye  ! 

Over  the  table,  —  look  out  for  the  lamp  !  — 


440  ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS. 

The  rogue  is  growing  a  little  old ; 

Five  years  we've  tramped  through  wind  and  weather. 
And  slept  out-doors  when  nights  were  cold, 

And  ate  and  drank  —  and  starved  together. 

We've  learned  what  comfort  is,  I  tell  you ! 

A  bed  on  the  floor,  a  bit  of  rosin, 
A  fire  to  thaw  our  thumbs  (poor  fellow ! 

The  paw  he  holds  up  there's  been  frozen), 
Plenty  of  catgut  for  my  fiddle, 

(This  out-door  business  is  bad  for  strings). 
Then  a  few  nice  buckwheats  hot  from  the  griddle, 

And  Roger  and  I  set  up  for  kings ! 


I 


No,  thank  ye,  Sir,  —  I  never  drink ; 

Roger  and  I  are  exceedingly  moral,  — 
Aren't  we,  Roger?  —  see  him  wink  !  — 

Well,  something  hot,  then,  —  we  won't  quarrel. 
He's  thirsty,  too,  —  see  him  nod  his  head? 

What  a  pity.  Sir,  that  dogs  can't  talk ! 
He  understands  every  word  that's  said, — 

And  he  knows  good  milk  from  water-and-chalk. 

The  truth  is,  Sir,  now  I  reflect, 

I've  been  so  sadly  given  to  grog, 
I  wonder  I've  not  lost  the  respect 

(Here's  to  you.  Sir !)  even  of  my  dog. 
But  he  sticks  by,  through  thick  and  thin ; 

And  this  old  coat,  with  its  empty  pockets. 
And  rags  that  smell  of  tobacco  and  gin,  a 

He'll  follow  while  he  has  eyes  in  his  sockets.  B 

There  isn't  another  creature  living 

Would  do  it,  and  prove,  through  every  disaster, 
So  fond,  so  faithful,  and  so  forgiving. 

To  such  a  miserable  thankless  master ! 


ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS.  441 

No,  sir  !  —  see  him  wag  his  tail  and  grin  ! 

By  George  !  it  makes  my  old  eyes  water ! 
That  is,  there's  something  in  this  gin 

That  chokes  a  fellow.     But  no  matter ! 

We'll  have  some  music,  if  you're  willing. 

And  Roger  (hem  !   what  a  plague  a  cough  is,  Sir !) 
Shall  march  a  little.  —  Start,  you  villain  ! 

Stand  straight !  'Bout  face  !  Salute  your  officer  ! 
Put  up  that  paw  !  Dress  !  Take  your  rifle  ! 

(Some  dogs  have  arms,  you  see !)     Now  hold  your 
Cap  while  the  gentlemen  give  a  trifle. 

To  aid  a  poor  old  patriot  soldier  ! 

March  !  Halt !  Now  show  how  the  rebel  shakes, 

When  he  stands  up  to  hear  his  sentence. 
Now  tell  us  how  many  drams  it  takes 

To  honor  a  jolly  new  acquaintance. 
Five  yelps,  —  that's  five;  he's  mighty  knowing! 

The  night's  before  us,  fill  the  glasses !  — 
Quick,  Sir  !     I'm  ill,  —  my  brain  is  going  !  — • 

Some  brandy,  —  thank  you,  —  there  !  —  it  passes ! 

Why  not  reform  ?     That's  easily  said  ; 

But  I've  gone  through  such  wretched  treatment, 
Sometimes  forgetting  the  taste  of  bread. 

And  scarce  remembering  what  meat  meant, 
That  my  poor  stomach's  past  reform  ; 

And  there  are  times  when,  mad  with  thinking, 
I'd  sell  out  heaven  for  something  warm 

To  prop  a  horrible  inward  sinking. 

Is  there  a  way  to  forget  to  think? 

At  your  age.  Sir,  home,  fortune,  friends, 
A  dear  girl's  love,  —  but  I  took  to  drink  ;  — 

The  same  old  story ;  you  know  how  it  ends. 


442  ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS. 

If  you  could  have  seen  these  classic  features,  — 
You  needn't  laugh,  Sir ;  they  were  not  then 

Such  a  burning  libel  on  God's  creatures: 
I  was  one  of  your  handsome  men  ! 

If  you  had  seen  her,  so  fair  and  young, 

Whose  head  was  happy  on  his  breast ! 
If  you  could  have  heard  the  songs  I  sung 

When  the  wine  went  round,  you  wouldn't  have  guessed 
That  ever  I,  Sir,  should  be  straying 

From  door  to  door,  with  fiddle  and  dog, 
Ragged  and  penniless,  and  playing 

To  you  to-night  for  a  glass  of  grog ! 

She's  married  since,  —  a  parson's  wife  : 

'Twas  better  for  her  that  we  should  part,  — 
Better  the  soberest,  prosiest  life 

Than  a  blasted  home  and  a  broken  heart. 
I  have  seen  her?     Once  :  I  was  weak  and  spent 

On  the  dusty  road,  a  carriage  stopped  : 
But  little  she  dreamed,  as  on  she  went. 

Who  kissed  the  coin  that  her  fingers  dropped ! 

You've  set  me  talking.  Sir  ;  I'm  sorry  ; 

It  makes  me  wild  to  think  of  the  change ! 
What  do  you  care  for  a  beggar's  story? 

Is  it  amusing?  you  find  it  strange? 
I  had  a  mother  so  proud  of  me ! 

'Twas  well  she  died  before Do  you  know 

If  the  happy  spirits  in  heaven  can  see 

The  ruin  and  wretchedness  here  below? 

Another  glass,  and  strong,  to  deaden 

This  pain  ;  then  Roger  and  I  will  start. 
I  wonder  has  he  such  a  lumpish,  leaden, 

Aching  thing,  in  place  of  a  heart? 


ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS,  443 

He  is  sad  sometimes,  and  would  weep,  if  he  could, 
No  doubt,  remembering  things  that  were, — 

A  virtuous  kennel,  with  plenty  of  food, 
And  himself  a  sober,  respectable  cur. 

I'm  better  now  ;  that  glass  was  warming,  — 

You  rascal !  limber  your  lazy  feet ! 
We  must  be  fiddling  and  performing 

For  supper  and  bed,  or  starve  on  the  street.  — 
Not  a  very  gay  life  to  lead,  you  think  ? 

But  soon  we  shall  go  where  lodgings  are  free, 
And  the  sleepers  need  neither  victuals  nor  drink;  — 

The  sooner,  the  better  for  Roger  and  me  ! 

J.  T.  Trowbridge. 


CARDINAL  WOLSEY,  ON  BEING  CAST  OFF  BY  KING 
HENRY  VI I L 

Nay,  then,  farewell, 

I  have  touch'd  the  highest  point  of  all  my  greatness ; 

And,  from  that  full  meridian  of  my  glory, 

I  haste  now  to  my  setting:   I  shall  fall 

Like  a  bright  exhalation  in  the  evening. 

And  no  man  see  me  more. 

So  farewell  to  the  little  good  you  bear  me. 

Farewell,  a  long  farewell,  to  all  my  greatness ! 

This  is  the  state  of  man  :  to-day  he  puts  forth 
The  tender  leaves  of  hope  ;  to-morrow,  blossoms. 
And  bears  his  blushing  honors  thick  upon  him  : 
The  third  day  comes  a  frost,  a  killing  frost ; 
And,  when  he  thinks  —  good,  easy  man  —  full  surely 
His  greatness  is  a  ripening,  nips  his  root. 
And  then  he  falls,  as  I  do.     I  have  ventured, 
Like  little  wanton  boys  that  swim  on  bladders. 
These  many  summers  in  a  sea  of  glory  ; 


444  ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS. 

But  far  beyond  my  depth  :   my  high-blown  pride 
At  length  broke  under  me ;  and  now  has  left  me, 
Weary  and  old  with  service,  to  the  mercy 
Of  a  rude  stream,  that  must  forever  hide  mc. 

Vain  pomp  and  glory  of  this  world,  I  hate  ye  ! 
I  feel  my  heart  new  open'd.     Oh,  how  wretched 
Is  that  poor  man  that  hangs  on  princes  favors  I 
There  is,  betwixt  that  smile  he  would  aspire  to, 
That  sweet  aspect  of  princes,  and  his  ruin. 
More  pangs  and  fears  than  wars  or  women  have, 
And  when  he  falls,  he  falls  like  Lucifer, 
Never  to  hope  again.  Shakespeare. 


WOLSEV  TO   CROMWELL. 

Cromwell,  I  did  not  think  to  shed  a  tear 

In  all  my  miseries  ;  but  thou  hast  forced  me, 

Out  of  thy  honest  truth,  to  play  the  woman. 

Let's  dry  our  eyes  :  and  thus  far  hear  me,  Cromwell; 

And  when  I  am  forgotten,  as  I  shall  be. 

And  sleep  in  dull,  cold  marble,  where  no  mention 

Of  me  must  more  be  heard  of,  —  say  I  taught  thee, — 

Say,  Wolsey,  that  once  trod  the  ways  of  glory, 

And  sounded  all  the  depths  and  shoals  of  honor. 

Found  thee  a  way,  out  of  his  wreck,  to  rise  in  ; 

A  sure  and  safe  one,  though  thy  master  miss'd  it. 

Mark  but  my  fall,  and  that  which  ruin'd  me. 

Cromwell,  I  charge  thee,  fling  away  ambition  ! 

By  that  sin  fell  the  angels  :  how  can  man,  then. 

The  image  of  his  Maker,  hope  to  win  by  't? 

Love  thyself  last ;  cherish  those  hearts  that  hate  thee, - 

Corruption  wins  not  more  than  honesty  ; 

Still  in  thy  right  hand  carry  gentle  peace. 


ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS.  445 

To  silence  envious  tongues.     Be  just,  and  fear  not. 

Let  all  the  ends  thou  aim'st  at  be  thy  country's, 

Thy  God's,  and  truth's :  then,  if  thou  fall'st,  O  Cromwell, 

Thou  fall'st  a  blessed  martyr.      Serve  the  king ; 

And, Prithee,  lead  me  in : 

Tliere,  take  an  inventory  of  all  I  have. 

To  the  last  penny  ;  'tis  the  king's :  my  robe. 

And  my  integrity  to  heaven,  is  all 

I  dare  now  call  mine  own.     Oh,  Cromwell,  Cromwell ! 

Had  I  but  served  my  God  with  half  the  zeal 

I  sewed  my  king,  he  would  not,  in  mine  age. 

Have  left  me  naked  to  mine  enemies.  Shakespeare. 


PORTIA'S  SPEECH  ON  MERCY. 

The  quality  of  mercy  is  not  strain'd, 

It  droppeth,  as  the  gentle  rain  from  heaven, 

Upon  the  place  beneath  ;  it  is  twice  bless'd, — 

It  blesseth  him  that  gives,  and  him  that  takes. 

'Tis  mightiest  in  the  mightiest :  it  becomes 

The  throned  monarch  better  than  his  crown  ; 

His  sceptre  shows  the  force  of  tempoi'al  power, 

The  attribute  to  awe  and  majesty. 

Wherein  doth  sit  the  dread  and  fear  of  kings; 

But  mercy  is  above  this  sceptred  sway, 

It  is  enthroned  in  the  hearts  of  kings. 

It  is  an  attribute  to  God  himself; 

And  earthly  power  doth  then  show  likest  God's 

When  mercy  seasons  justice.     Therefore,  Jew, 

Though  justice  be  thy  plea,  consider  this, — 

That  in  the  course  of  justice,  none  of  us 

Should  see  salvation  :  we  do  pray  for  mercy ; 

And  that  same  prayer  doth  teach  us  nil  to  render 


446  ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS. 

The  deeds  of  mercy.     I  have  spoke  thus  much 
To  mitigate  the  justice  of  thy  plea  ; 
Which  if  thou  follow,  this  strict  court  of  Venice 
Must  needs  give  sentence  'gainst  the  merchant  there. 

Shakespeare. 


FROM   THE  ANCIENT  MARINER. 

The  fair  breeze  blew,  the  white  foam  flew, 

The  furrow  followed  free  ; 
We  were  the  first  that  ever  burst 

Into  that  silent  sea. 

Down  dropped  the  breeze,  the  sails  dropped  down, 

'Twas  sad  as  sad  could  be  ; 
And  we  did  speak  only  to  break 

The  silence  of  the  sea ! 

All  in  a  hot  and  copper  sky, 

The  bloody  Sun,  at  noon. 
Right  up  above  the  mast  did  stand, 

No  bigger  than  the  Moon. 

Day  after  day,  day  after  day. 

We  stuck,  nor  breath  nor  motion : 
As  idle  as  a  painted  ship 

Upon  a  painted  ocean. 

Water,  water,  everywhere, 

And  all  the  boards  did  shrink  • 
Water,  water,  everywhere. 

Nor  any  drop  to  drink. 

The  very  deep  did  rot :  —  O  Christ ! 

That  ever  this  should  be ! 
Yea,  slimy  things  did  crawl  with  legs 
Upon  the  slimy  sea. 


ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS.  4:4^'-^ 

About,  about,  in  reel  and  rout 

The  death-fire  danced  at  night ; 
The  water,  like  a  witch's  oils, 

Burnt  green,  and  blue,  and  white. 

S.  T.  Coleridge. 


THE  PHANTOM   SHIP. 

There  passed  a  weary  time.     Each  throat 

Was  parched,  and  glazed  each  eye. 

A  weary  time  !  a  weary  time  ! 

How  glazed  each  weary  eye. 

When  looking  westward,  I  beheld 

A  something  in  the  sky ! 

At  first  it  seemed  a  little  speck, 
And  then  it  seemed  a  mist ; 
It  moved,  and  moved,  and  took  at  last 
A  certain  shape,  I  wist. 

A  speck,  a  mist,  a  shape,  I  wist! 
And  still  it  neared  and  neared ; 
As  if  it  dodged  a  water-sprite. 
It  plunged  and  tacked  and  veered. 

With  throats  unslaked,  with  black  lips  baked, 

We  could  nor  laugh  nor  wail ; 

Through  utter  drought  all  dumb  we  stood ! 

I  bit  my  arm,  I  sucked  my  blood, 

And  cried,  A  sail,  a  sail ! 

With  throats  unslaked,  with  black  lips  baked, 
Agape  they  heard  me  call : 
Gramercy  !   they  for  joy  did  grin, 
And  all  at  once  their  breath  drew  in. 
As  they  were  drinking  all. 


448  ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS. 

See  !  see  !   (I  cried,)  she  tacks  no  more  ! 
Hither  to  work  us  weal 
Without  a  breeze,  without  a  tide, 
She  steadies  with  upright  keel ! 

The  western  wave  was  all  aflame, 
The  day  was  well  nigh  done ! 
Almost  upon  the  western  wave 
Rested  the  broad,  bright  sun  ; 

And  straight  the  sun  was  flecked  with  bars, 
(Heaven's  mother  send  us  grace  !) 
As  if  through  a  dungeon-grate  it  peered 
With  broad  and  burning  face. 

Alas  !  (thought  I,  and  my  heart  beat  loud,) 
How  fast  she  nears,  and  nears ! 
Are  those  her  sails  that  glance  in  the  sun 
Like  restless  gossameres? 

Are  those  her  ribs  through  which  the  sun 
Did  peer,  as  through  a  grate? 
And  is  that  woman  all  her  crew? 
Is  that  a  Death?  and  are  there  two? 
Is  Death  that  Woman's  mate? 

Her  lips  were  red,  her  locks  were  free, 
Her  locks  were  yellow  as  gold ; 
Her  skin  was  as  white  as  leprosy, 
The  night-mare  Life-in-Death  was  she. 
Who  thicks  man's  blood  with  cold. 

The  naked  hulk  alongside  came, 

And  the  twain  were  casting  dice  ; 

"  The  gaaie  is  done  !  I've  won,  I've  won  ! " 

Qtioth  she,  and  whistles  thrice. 


ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS.  449 

The  sun's  rim  dips  !  the  stars  rush  out ! 
At  one  stride  comes  the  dark  ; 
With  far-heard  whisper,  o'er  the  sea, 
Off  shot  the  spectre  bark. 

We  listened  and  looked  sideways  up ! 

Fear  at  my  heart,  as  at  a  cup, 

My  life-blood  seemed  to  sip  ! 

The  stars  were  dim,  and  thick  the  night, 

The  steersman's  face  by  his  lamp  gleamed  white ; 

From  the  sails  the  dew  did  drip  — 

Till  clomb  above  the  eastern  bar 

The  horned  moon,  with  one  bright  star 

Within  the  nether  tip.  S.  T.  Coleridge. 


LOCHINVAR'S  RIDE, 

O  YOUNG  Lochinvar  is  come  out  of  the  West ! 

Through  all  the  wide  border  his  steed  was  the  best ; 

And  save  his  good  broadsword  he  weapons  had  none  ; 

He  rode  all  unarmed,  and  he  rode  all  alone. 

So  faithful  in  love,  and  so  dauntless  in  war. 

There  was  never  a  knight  like  the  young  Lochinvar. 

He  staid  not  for  brake,  and  he  stopped  not  for  stone ; 

He  swam  the  Eske  River  where  ford  there  was  none ; 

But,  ere  he  alighted  at  Netherby  gate, 

The  bride  had  consented,  —  the  gallant  came  late ; 

For  a  laggard  in  love,  and  a  dastard  in  war, 

Was  to  wed  the  fair  Ellen  of  brave  Lochinvar. 

So  boldly  he  entered  the  Netherby  hall, 

Among  bridesmen,  and  kinsmen,  and  brother*,  and  all. 

Then  spoke  the  bride's  father,  his  hand  on  his  sword, — 

For  the  poor  craven  bridegroom  said  never  a  word, — 

"  O  come  ye  in  peace  here,  or  come  ye  in  war. 

Or  to  dance  at  our  bridal,  young  Lord  Lochinvar.?" 


450  ADVANCED    READINGS    AND    RECITATIONS. 

^'  I  long  wooed  your  daughter ;  —  my  suit  you  denied  ; 
Love  swells  like  the  Solway,  but  ebbs  like  its  tide ; 
And  now  I  am  come,  with  this  lost  love  of  mine 
To  lead  but  one  measure,  —  drink  one  cup  of  wine. 
There  be  maidens  in  Scotland,  more  lovely  by  far, 
That  would  gladly  be  bride  to  the  young  Lochinvar." 

The  bride  kissed  the  goblet ;  the  knight  took  it  up  ; 
He  quaffed  off  the  wine,  and  he  threw  down  the  cup; 
She  looked  down  to  blush,  and  she  looked  up  to  sigh, 
With  a  smile  on  her  lip,  and  a  tear  in  her  eye  ; 
He  took  her  soft  hand  ere  her  mother  could  bar ;  — 
''  Now  tread  we  a  measure  ! "  said  young  Lochinvar. 

So  stately  his  form,  and  so  lovely  her  face. 

That  never  a  hall  such  a  galliard  did  grace ; 

While  her  mother  did  fret,  and  her  father  did  fume, 

And  the  bridegroom  stood  dangling  his  bonnet  and  plume, 

And  the  bridemaidens  whispered,  ''  'Twere  better,  by  far. 

To  have  matched  our  fair  cousin  with  young  Lochinvar." 

One  touch  to  her  hand,  and  one  word  in  her  ear, 

W.cn  they  reached  the  hall-door,  where  the  charger  stood 

near ; 
So  light  to  the  croup  the  fair  lady  he  swung, 
So  light  to  the  saddle  before  her  he  sprung ;  — 
''  She  is  won  !  we  are  gone,  over  bank,  bush,  and  scaur ; 
They'll  have  fleet  steeds  that  follow  !  "  quoth  young  Lochin- 
var. 

There  was  mounting  'mong  Grasmes  of  the  Netherby  clan ; 

Fosters,  Fenwicks,  and  Musgraves,  they  rode  and  they  ran ; 

There  was  racing  and  chasing  on  Cannobie  lea. 

But  the  lost  bride  of  Netherby  ne'er  did  they  see. 

So  daring  in  love,  and  so  dauntless  in  war ; 

Have  ye  e'er  heard  of  gallant  like  young  Lochinvar? 

Walter  Scott. 

0) 


YB  02005 


